


Pocket Aces

by Melda_Burke



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, Fluff and feels (hey it ain't my story if it ain't a little fluffy. Fluff is my brand now), Gangs and bangs, Gun Violence, I claim no ownership of the songs featured, Injury, Intrigue, It might as well be a songfic, It's meant to be implied the casino pays for them to be performed, MF!Papyrus is emotionally constipated, MF!Sans is a suave mofo, MF!Sans wants all the smooches, Meaning that some comments/ideas may not clash well with modern views, Please take this as a warning, Seriously get that skele a laxative, That being said this is set in modern times with a 20s/30s stylistic flair, There's a lot of songs in here, This fic was written with era-authenticity in mind, it's a Fell-verse so we've got tsunderes to spare, noir, reader is a small town girl living in a lonely world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2019-08-23 11:05:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 73,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16617761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melda_Burke/pseuds/Melda_Burke
Summary: Deadluck Hotel & Casino; it’s cheap, seedy, flashy...and it’s the most popular house of sin and desperation on the Ebott Strip. Deadluck is where ne’er-do-wells, average Joes, and high-rollers alike go to take a chance on winning it big or losing everything. And, rumor has it, the monster brothers who own the place are in thick with the mob, but you were never one to listen to rumors. It was either buy a room there or sleep in an alley, so you take your chances.The thing is, the Devil was always a gamblin’ man.





	1. A Roll of the Dice

With a huff, you dragged your suitcase out from the compartment underneath the bus. You had your whole life packed in there, more or less anyway, and the darn thing definitely looked the part. It was an old thing made of cracked leather dyed robin’s egg blue. It had followed your daddy on his travels across the states as a salesman and now it followed you. Or rather, you dragged it behind you by its tarnished, brass handle through the damp, foggy streets of Las Montañas along the Ebott Strip. Either way, it held everything you owned, including memories both good and bad.

Neon lights gave the fog a playful, seductive glow; an ethereal coat of many colors which would surely bring its wearers only sorrow. The cold and the damp of the dreary night were belied by the music being blasted by the bands within the various clubs, motels, casinos, and restaurants that lined the street. The city itself seemed to breathe, while it’s heartbeat that pulsed with the multitudinous steps of dancing, swaying feet. Gay laughter, cars honking, and siren blaring…no wonder this was called the city that never sleeps.

Delectable scents wafted under your nose and relentlessly teased your growling stomach. You were suddenly keenly aware how many hours it had been since you’d last had a good meal. You glanced to the right where a street vendor was shouting to passers-by about the quality of his hotdogs. You couldn’t see his face very well, he had his hood up and his portable cart was half-hidden in the alley out of the way of all foot-traffic.

You hesitated, your hand automatically feeling through your purse for a thin wad of bills, as you considered the pros and cons. You couldn’t afford a meal at any of the diners until you met up with your new boss for that cash advance on this month’s gig without digging into your motel funds, but it also wasn’t terribly wise to buy food off a sketchy street vendor. So, should you appease your snarling belly and risk catching goodness-knows-what from the street food…or go to bed hungry and hope the job opportunity is worth it?

A second more of indecision stayed your hand before you sighed and slipped a few notes from your ragged bag to offer them up. “One with everything on it, please…except onions.”

From deep within the shadow of the furred hood, you heard an amused chuckle. “Sure thing, little lady.” Gloved hands worked the propane grill behind the cart with the ease of practice. Despite the fact you couldn’t see his face, he sounded friendly enough –if a little gruff. “What’s a gal like you doin’ hangin’ around this time o’ night in this part of town, eh? Liable t’ get yerself mugged.”

“Work.” You rolled the bills through your fingers nervously. The cart guy _did_ have a point; the strip was glamorous, but it did have its dark side…especially for unarmed people carrying cash at night, but it wasn’t like you had a choice.

“Work, huh? Yeah, lotsa people come lookin’ for that. Not many of ‘em find it, though. What kinda work you lookin’ for?” He asked casually as he began loading on the toppings.

“I’m…er…I’m a dancer…a-and a decent actress.” You stammered out, almost embarrassed to be admitting your hopes and dreams to this stranger on the street.

He snickered to himself, then seemed to catch himself and coughed. “Good luck with that, kid.” He sounded very close to sympathetic as he loaded four hotdogs into cardboard containers and slid them your way.

You stared at the food in disbelief. “I…I only ordered one-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I can fuckin’ count, lady.” He picked the dogs up and shoved them into a bag which he pressed roughly into your hands. “Welcome t’ the jungle, sweetcheeks. If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.”

Shock rooted you to the spot in front of the cart. “Thank you!” You blurted out much too loudly, and you heard him give a quiet groan.

“Keep yer fuckin’ voice down, if people know I’m giving shit away for free I’ll have all the beggars in the east end tailin’ me like a buncha stray dogs.” He grumbled as he placed the tin covers back on the trays of toppings. “Now, get outta here before somebody sees you got cash on ya.” You backed away from the cart slowly and the hood rustled as he nodded in approval. “Oh, and sweetcheeks?” Something yellow and bright caught the light of the neon signs from the depth of his hood. “Steer clear of Paradise Park on Sunrise Boulevard...it ain’t the kinda place a lady wants t’ be at night.”

You bobbed your head in quiet understanding and scurried off into the smoky, crowded streets of Las Montañas. Weird encounter with the street vendor aside, you were tired and needed a place to stay. There were a few seedy motels, the kinds of places married men sneak off to for trysts with their mistresses and where the wealthier druggies went to shoot up, but none of them had an open room. After being turned away from the third motel in a row, you must have looked quite dejected because the guy at the desk gave you an empathetic look. “You could always try Deadluck-“

“No, don’t send the poor girl over there.” A passing housekeeper whapped the guy with her feather duster admonishingly.  “Those monster fellows are trouble. She’d be better off sleeping in the street.” The housekeeper and the check-in guy broke out into a hushed argument.

“Pardon me, but what’s Deadluck?” You inquired over their angered, back-and-forth whispering.

“Deadluck Hotel and Casino. It’s just down the street. They got a giant sign, ya can’t miss it.” The front desk guy informed you, in spite of the housekeeper’s disgruntled mumblings. “They’ve almost always got a room or two. Don’t worry, they’re…uhh… _budget-friendly_. As long as you keep to yourself and don’t take any wooden nickels, you should be fine.” He wrung his hands worriedly. “But do yourself a favor and if you see any pinstripes, you walk in the opposite direction. Trust me on that, you don’t want any of what they’re sellin’.”

“Pinstripes?”

“Gangsters.” The housekeeper hissed. “That place is full of ‘em. People say those monster brothers are in bed with the mob and I believe it with the way those two go about. People who owe them money or try to fuck them over go MIA, an’ there’s no way ownin’ a shitty hotel pays for them to be livin’ like eggs.”

“Thanks for the warning, I’ll keep an eye out.” You heaved your suitcase off the tile floor and wished them both a good night. You could feel their eyes on you through the window as you walked out. Sure, a mob-run hotel sounded terrifying, but you had to sleep _somewhere_. You didn’t want to rush to your audition tomorrow after having spent the night sleeping in an alley littered with urine-soaked garbage.

When he’d said you couldn’t miss the sign, he’d meant it. A couple of blocks down, just as the guy had directed, you could see lighting up a twenty by a twenty-foot patch of sidewalk and street from its position on the building. The building itself was a modest size for the area, only six stories tall, but the sign took up a massive percentage of the front. It was one of those neat types where the neon lit up in sections to make it look like the sign was moving.

It was eerie; the obnoxious white light that outlined the skull chomping down on a golden coin made you feel as if you’d made a big mistake simply by looking at it. Its jaw greedily gobbled coin after coin as you watched, mesmerized, from below. When you were finally able to tear your eyes away, you took a deep breath and marched determinedly toward the front door. From inside, you could hear a catchy tune playing over the radio and that gave you some small relief.

Because nothing bad happens in a place with catchy tunes, right?


	2. Snake Eyes

 

From the moment you stepped inside, you were assaulted by light, sound, and color. The entrance was opened wide like the maw of Jonah’s whale, and ready to swallow down any patrons into its scarlet and gold-toned gullet. A massive chandelier, swinging like Luciano Pavarotti’s uvula at the Metropolitan, sent fractals of carnelian light about the room. Wall to wall carpeting, black with swirling designs like blood in ebony water, greeted your feet as you shuffled inside.

At the main desk, a monster stood in bell-hop attire with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. “Whaddya want, toots?” Smoke curled around his words, and he spoke with a bored, exhausted drawl. “Room, slots, or both?”

“R-room, please.” You shivered under his gaze. You were feeling the weight of your thin, damp jacket over the cotton dress you had on, and you would do anything to be soaking in a warm bath right now. “How much?”

“Seventy-five as a deposit right now, and a tenner for every night after until ya leave.” He flicked out his claws and examined them while you fumbled to get your money out.

Hopefully, you’d be able to find steady work with the audition tomorrow, perhaps enough to get an apartment in the cheaper area of the city. Then, you wouldn’t have to worry so much about money. Right now, though, you had a little over five hundred dollars to your name. You handed over the bills, which he counted through quickly before putting them away in a safe box under the counter.

You could tell he must have thought you were odd; a young woman in travel-rumpled clothes and mud-spattered maryjanes coming in with an ancient suitcase and paying in cash. Still, he asked no questions, pushed a guest book your way that would serve as your receipt, and handed over a key attached via the ring to a plastic femur.

You stared for a moment at the mutilated Halloween decoration that now served to mark your room key. “It’s so people don’t forget ‘em or somethin’. I dunno, it was The Boss’s idea. He’s all about ‘bein’ organized’ and shit. The bit about it being a bone…well, that was Boss’s brother. He likes his jokes.”

“Oh.” You smiled meekly at him. “Okay, well, have a good night, then.”

The cat monster scoffed. “Yeah, sure. I’ll have a good night when I don’t have t’ run over t’ my _second_ shit job at the MTT Plaza-“ He stopped himself short when he noticed you were watching him intently. “Don’t mind me, toots. Just a bitter ol’ cat yammerin’ on about my crap life.”

“You could always look for a different job.” You suggested politely as you loaded your suitcase into a luggage cart to take with you into the elevator.

“Guess you’re new in town, toots. See, when ya got my kinda credentials ya either work here, or one of the other shit hotel-motel-holiday inn places, OR you work at the MTT Plaza…or you work at a fuckin’ gas station and I’d rather chew off my own foot.” He leaned forward and let his head rest in his paws.

“Credentials?”

“I’ve got a high school diploma and half of a Bachelor of Fine Arts to my name, an’ that unfinished BA ain’t gonna pay any bills.” He grinned, although the look in his eyes was resentful and withering. “Go on up to your room, lady. You’ll see what I mean soon enough.”

The elevator door closed on the image of him still half-leaning and half-standing at the front desk, and leaving you more perplexed than ever. It seemed like the moment you’d stepped foot on the strip, people had been trying to dissuade you from being here. Why? Sure, you’d heard the stories about it being a tough place, but wasn’t that supposed to be how cities were in general?

You pondered the question all the way to your room. Your room was at the end of the hall on the top floor, and had probably been the last one available for that very reason. You flipped on the light, flooding the space with a harsh, yellow glow. The place was clean as far as you could tell, however it was rather rough and bare-bones in style.

There was a twin-sized bed draped in a plain, black comforter with matching sheets and pillowcases. Likewise, the dark curtains that framed the tiny window were black-out panels and probably chosen for patrons who’d overindulged in whatever drinks were served in the casino downstairs. An adjoining room led to a bathroom decorated in similarly to the bedroom; plain black shower curtain, a no-slip bathroom mat, and black towels. “Surprised the toilet paper isn’t black, too. Jeez, when these people pick a theme, they definitely stick to it.” You mumbled as you threw open your suitcase and began to unpack.

There wasn’t much storage space in the hotel room, but there was a nightstand beside the bed with two deep drawers and that was good enough for you. You shoved your small amount of clothes into the top drawer, and neatly settled the rest of your belongings in the second; a journal and pen, an engraved gold pocket watch, a small first-aid kit, a make-up bag, your headshots and acting portfolio, and a deck of personalized playing cards. A couple of other things such as your toiletry items, some food, and a bit of dishware/cutlery were stashed about the room. The effect was finished off when you’d placed Turvy the turtle in his honorary spot at the head of the bed.

It wasn’t much, but your entire life was this room right now. Heck, this room was more of a home already than the orphanage had been and you hadn’t been here for much longer than an hour. You stretched, groaning as your back popped, and started to strip down to take a shower. The water was hot enough to burn the skin off a devil, but it felt good running down your skin after so many hours spent on that godawful bus ride and so many darn transfers.

The towel you used to dry off was soft and smelled like it was fairly fresh from the dryer, a pleasant surprise indeed. After wiggling into your pajamas, you noticed a small slip of paper had been slipped under your door while you were cleaning yourself up. Upon examination, it was clearly a room-service menu. You didn’t have the money for that, but you kept it all the same because it had the front desk’s extension on it.

The television in the room was an ancient tube on a metal mount on the far wall, but you turned it on for background noise. The cable was standard, and there were some pay-per-view channels, but otherwise you lost interest after flipping through them all a couple of times. Settling down with National Geographic playing softly, you fished out your journal to scribble out the events of the day.

It wasn’t like you kept a day-to-day log because that wasn’t something you could possibly keep up with. In fact, you’d had this same journal for over ten years and it still wasn’t fully filled in. You only wrote down the most memorable days to keep everything simple. That way, when you were old and gray you’d still have a way to look back on good times.

You were half-way through describing the hotel room when there was a heavy knock on your door. Puzzled, you got up to check the peep-hole…and then jumped back with a shout as the door popped open. “WELCOME HUMAN! WELCOME TO DEADLUCK HOTEL AND CASINO. I APOLOGIZE WE WERE UNABLE TO GREET YOU PROPERLY EARLIER, TYPICALLY WE MAKE A HABIT OF PERSONALLY WELCOMING ALL OF OUR GUESTS.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock because there, standing in the hallway as calm as could be, were two of the _biggest_ , _most terrifying_ monsters you’d ever encountered in your twenty-two years on this earth. The shorter one was easily six feet tall, whilst the other was definitely pushing eight, and their height wasn’t the only impossibly horrifying thing about them. No, that would be the fact that both of them seemed to lack skin…and muscle….and fat…and basically everything else except for bones. You’d seen many different types of monsters; animal-like, humanoid, a few ghost-like monsters, and even ones that looked like overgrown mold spores or rocks, but _never_ had you come across skeletons.

Because that’s what they were; these people were skeletons. Skeletons, you realized with growing dread, who sported teeth that would have made a saber-tooth tiger jealous. You tried to subtly back up from the taller monster, who was now going on about complimentary chocolates and bath soaps.

“Eh, bro, shut yer trap. We talked ‘bout you snappin’ a cap at guests. Yer scarin’ ‘er. Gonna turn ‘er into a canceled stamp. Ya want ‘er t’ have a good time, right?” That was…odd. You cocked your head, listening to the pair of monsters as they conversed. Maybe you were just tired, but something about the shorter monster seemed strangely familiar.

“ALL OF OUR GUESTS HAVE A GOOD TIME REGARDLESS-… _ahem_ ,” The taller skeleton cleared his throat loudly, but continued on in a slightly quieter voice. “Sans, I’m explaining to our _lovely_ new guest about the benefits of staying here in Deadluck, don’t interrupt!” He narrowed his eyes at the shorter monster, whose name was apparently ‘Sans’. “You are a fucking boob around customers, you know that? So embarrassing.” He straightened his shoulders and offered a hand to you. “My apologies, ma’am. My brother is uncouth, and has caused me to forget my own manners as well. My name is Papyrus, _his_ name is Sans, and we are your hosts for the duration of your stay.”

“Alright…” You took his hand and winced as he pressed his teeth to your skin. This was all incredibly disconcerting; was greeting you so important that these people simply _had_ to break into the room? Was that the way things were done around here? You didn’t know people acted so differently in the city! “Um…well, nice to meet you. I’ll…I’ll need to go to sleep soon, so…”

“Yes, of course, of course. Please feel free to ring the front desk if you need anything.” Papyrus nodded curtly before turning on his heel and exiting the room as suddenly as he’d entered it.

 Sans, however, lingered. “Sorry ‘bout that. Boss’s been workin’ on his ‘customer service’ shit again. It won’t last long, he always ends up gettin’ too busy to bother with it after a while. Nice t’ meetchya, sweetcheeks, you can call me Red. Everyone does, except for numbskull back there, heh.” He tipped his fedora to you. “Nice girl like you should lock yer door at night, ya know. Not sayin’ ya ain’t safe here, but our security boys can only do so much.”

“Right, thanks. I’ll definitely remember next time.” You chewed on your lip. “Sorry, this is gonna sound weird…have we met before?”

He smirked, and for the first time you caught sight of a glint of gold in his massive jaws. “I dunno, but I’d probably remember chewin’ the fat with a pretty doll like you.” He shot you a wink, spun on his heel, and gave you a lazy wave. “See ya around, sweetcheeks. Sleep tight.”


	3. Bottom Dollar Babe

 

Despite how many people would have sneered at your dreams, you weren’t some hopeless, starry-eyed baby. You knew how much work and dedication it would take to eke out a living in the cutthroat world of showbiz, and you had no ideas of fame or fortune. You simply wanted to spend your life doing what you loved; it was all you’d _ever_ wanted out of life.

Life in the orphanage, where you’d spent your time since the age of seven to eighteen, had left you little time for the comfort of hopes and dreams. The Miles Hershe School had provided you with the barest minimum of what was needed in categories of nutrition, housing, and education, yet it had failed to inspire your imagination. Fortunately, you’d retained enough drive from your time living with your late grandfather to maintain it yourself with books, movies, art, traveling circus shows, and plays.

You saw your first theatre production when you were twelve, and from the moment you saw Juliet fall limp across the body of her Romeo, you were hooked. To this day, you still had the playbooks from every community theatre taped into your ratty, leather-bound journal. The stage was your first love, from the blocking to dress rehearsal to curtain call on the Sunday matinee; you were head-over-heels for the limelight.

For a while, you could live another life in another world in a universe running parallel to your own. You weren’t a plain girl from smalltown, USA…you were Catherine from Wuthering Heights or The Venus Hottentot and the heat of the lights on your face as you boldly faced your audience was be an experience you’d die before you tired of. Lights, camera, _heaven_ …that was the life you dreamed of living.

And now, as you blinked back angry tears in the dressing room, you were still as dedicated to that dream as the moment you’d shut the door on your life in Miles Hershe. The first two auditions were a flop; you’d barely walked onstage with your lines before the director called ‘Next!’ for the first one, and the second one wasn’t a rejection but you could tell you weren’t getting a callback from the look on the producer’s face the moment you approached the microphone.

You’d been hoping against hope that you’d get something today, but you had a full week of auditions lined up. Some of them were for theatre, some were gigs on the strip looking for qualified dancers who didn’t mind showing a bit of leg, but as a last resort you’d also arranged an interview with a local supermarket manager. “The sun’ll come out tomorrow….bet your bottom dollar…” You half-mumbled, half-sang as a sad smile crossed your face.

The song reminded you of days long passed; ages spent in the pastoral bliss of your grandfather’s hand-built log cabin and the surrounding farm. Mind, it wasn’t a glorious living being the granddaughter of a goat farmer, but the pair of you had been happy. The farm was small, but self-sufficient in that it had everything one needed to survive. Nowadays, the only things you had left of him were the memories and that old pocket watch.

You carried the thing with you everywhere, it was kind of your own good-luck charm –a Glücksbringer, as he’d called it. On the front, done up in slightly chipped black and red enamels, was an engraving of a beetle with seven black spots. “Pappy, I hope you know I’m not giving up just yet.” You circled the beetle with the tip of your finger as you started off across the street.

The day was only half-over, but you had nothing else penciled in. Maybe it would be a good chance to explore your new home, and you’d have the chance to revel in the touristy areas before you settled in. Before coming to Las Montañas, you’d researched everything you could about the place; from the museums to the monuments and all the way down to the most historical buildings in the city. Granted, you’d do well to visit the areas that were free and not waste any of your scant cents on frivolous gallivanting, but there were still plenty of curious places.

Navigating the city wasn’t as difficult as you might’ve feared, however it _did_ become rather labyrinthine once in a while. It was especially difficult to maneuver between the plethoras of stalls in Little Underground. You ended up on that side of town because it was one of the oldest parts of the city and it housed El Teatro Big Horn. The Big Horn was a relic, a testament to the days of yore when people dressed in their Sunday best to attend every production and actors were even more tortured and damned than they are today.

Free daily tours were held between noon and five, so you were jittery with excitement as you stood in a short line waiting for your guide. You waved a hand in front of your face in an attempt to ward off the August heat. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw a familiar figure flash into view for a millisecond, but the person was gone before you turned your head to see.

It was the cart guy, of that you were almost certain, and while it wasn’t unusual for street vendors to roam there was something unusual about him you couldn’t place. He’d disappeared around the corner of a monster stall hocking pirated movies and electronics. For several moments, you rolled the idea of following him around in your head. On one hand, you could thank him properly for his gift yesterday and possibly make a new friend here in this crazy city. On the other hand, he was probably long gone and you’d risk getting yourself lost in the myriad of connected back-alleys and sign-less streets that made up Little Underground.

Oh, but what was life without a little mystery? You decided to give up on standing in the blazing heat and ducked under the velvet rope. You jogged at a brisk pace, weaving between bodies, until you reached the corner he’d turned and found that it led into a half-abandoned, paved path between two apartment buildings. The bricks of both were covered in thick layers of grime, graffiti, as well as those dark spots where hooligans had carelessly stuck their gum.

You were in luck, though, because you heard the distinctive rattle of wheels on pavement up ahead. “Hey! Excuse me! Sir! Please, wait, I-“ You ran as hard as you could, as far as your short legs could carry you, but when you came to the spot where you knew he should have been there was only a dead-end. You paused to catch your breath, head swiveling this way and that, as you tried to figure out where he possibly could have gone. Then, somewhere to your left and down another tight squeeze of space between a derelict post office and slumlord complex, you again heard the bumpity-bump of his cart.

You were off like the stone from David’s sling, and your feet ached from pounding so hard against the cracked pavement, but you were determined to catch up to this mystery man. You were so focused on finding him, you failed to notice that you’d gained a few followers of your own. You were bent over panting at the next turn. “Okay…this…this is getting a little ridiculous.” You straightened up and crossed your arms. “Where could he have-“

“Lookie here, boys. It’s a little lost kitten.” You whirled around to see a group of three men rounding the corner. Dirty, tattered clothes hung from their bodies, and two of them were carrying open bottles. You fixated on those bottles for some reason. Anyone bold enough to blatantly ignore the Prohibition in broad daylight was definitely not the kind of character you wanted to get mixed up with.

“Here kitty, kitty.” One of them cooed mockingly, and then meowed at you with a sinister chuckle.

“I don’t think the kitty wants t’ play with a buncha boozehounds.” Said a voice from over your shoulder. You froze, not daring to look for fear that you were hallucinating. How had the hotdog guy managed to sneak up behind you like that?!  “Now break it up before I break all o’ you.” He sounded calm, if a bit annoyed –he was taking on a tone like he was shooing a fly away from his dinner.

“Hey, we saw the dame first, pal. Why don’t you dust out and leave her with the real men, eh?”

You felt a leather-gloved hand curl over your opposite shoulder. “The doll’s with me, now amscray or I’ll have a Chicago overcoat tailor-made for each one of ya.” You felt a bit faint, your legs threatened to collapse out from under you, but somehow the hand on your shoulder was your saving grace. From that grip, you channeled an inner strength you didn’t know you had and kept yourself from breaking into tears right then and there.

Something smashed at your feet and you felt a sharp pain as bits of glass were propelled into the skin of your lower leg. You lost your balance, instinctively jerking your leg away from the source of the agony, and tottered to the side. Your face-less hero gave a grunt before adjusting for your added weight and cursed viciously under his breath.

The three men scoffed and jeered, but didn’t seem up to putting up much of a fight. “To hell with ya both.” The leading drunkard flipped you both the bird and sauntered off with his friends in tow.

“Oh…Oh… _oh my god_!” You clapped your hand over your own mouth as bile rose in the back of your throat and tears stung your eyes. “That was…holy saints in heaven...I could’ve…you…and then they...what in the name of all that is holy is wrong with this city?!” Your heart was pounding, your throat felt as dry as a dessert, and you weren’t entirely sure if you could stand on your own.

“Ya ever see in the cartoons where the character finds a leak an’ plugs it with his finger, and then another leak springs, he plugs it, an’ so on? Yeah, it’s like that…only with guns, booze, crime, an’ assholes.” The hotdog vendor chuckled deep in his throat, which vibrated his chest against your back. “You get used to it, sweetcheeks. Grows on ya like a fuckin’ wart. What the hell’re ya doin’ out here, anyway?”

You swallowed hard, glancing down to examine your scratched-up leg, before answering. “I saw you…so, I…I thought…maybe…I guess I just wanted a friendly face. It’s been a rough first day, I wasn’t thinking straight.” You tested your weight on the leg, found everything to be in working order, and leaned away from him. “Thanks for running off the goon squad. I can handle myself from here. Sorry I bothered you.”

“Hey,” He grabbed your arm and slipped it over his shoulders. “You’re not goin’ anywhere bleedin’ like that.”

“Well, I can’t afford a doctor, so if you can just get me as far as my hotel I’d be much obliged. I’ll be…ugh…” You blinked, squinting as the world tilted and folded in front of your eyes. Your vision frosted over with shadows until your entire head was fuzzy. Too shocked and terrified by your experience, you couldn’t fight the darkness as it consumed you.


	4. Hot Tip on a Longshot

 You awoke to a cold, dark room. Blinking slowly, you shifted and took note of the fact you were laid out above the covers in a bed. Now, rather said bed was yours remained in question since your eyes hadn’t yet adjusted.

Bolting up and out of the bed resulted in the floor rising to greet your face, but fortunately you were able to catch yourself before you hit the carpet. You hauled yourself back up with a groan, and proceeded to stumble about on a hunt for the light switch. Once found, you flicked it on and came to the relieving conclusion that, yes, you’d been returned to your temporary residence.

After a moment, you noticed a small slip of paper atop your nightstand. It had been torn from one of the complimentary notepads in the lobby and upon it was a hastily scrawled note.

**_your leg is fine. used your key to get you up here and fixed it up for you. be more fucking careful out there in the big, bad world, idiot. can’t spend all my time looking after spacey dames, you know._ **

For some reason, the insults tacked on at the end made you giggle and warmed your heart. You sincerely hoped you’d run into your mysterious friend again. He seemed so…well, not exactly _nice_ , but he had a sweet way about him. The note also reminded you of your injury, which was poorly bandaged and done up a tad too tight, but the thought remained and that meant more to you than anything else.

On a whim, you tucked the note into your journal. Someday, you’d find him again for a chance at an actual conversation. He was as elusive as a greased garter snake, but he had to turn up eventually. Something about him drew you in like a moth to a candle flame; hopefully, you wouldn’t get burned. You had so many questions and speculations, too. Why did he hide his face?  His movements were impossibly fast and he always seemed to be _just_ out of sight or reach until he saw fit to make a move.

It was almost like magic, could it be possible he was a monster? You’d never heard of monsters who could seemingly teleport, but then again your town hadn’t been very diverse even when it came to humans, so you weren’t incredibly knowledgeable about them. The possibility was quite high, considering the large population of monsters living alongside humans here, and it would make sense, too. Monsters were still not quite accepted amongst humans, perhaps he wanted to blend in with humans in order to avoid being harassed. Coming at it from that angle, his secrecy was incredibly sensible.

You still had a couple of hotdogs left over and thinking of him reminded you to eat. Admittedly, whoever this guy was, he sure could make a mean hotdog. Perched on your bed, hotdog in your free hand, you let your pen flow over the page to detail the events of the day. Clearly, you’d remained unconscious for quite a while after fainting and it was now a few minutes past seven o’ clock. The stress of extensive travel, a night of restless sleep in an unfamiliar environment, combined with your horrifying encounter and minor injuries had probably short-circuited your brain.

Your encounter with those slimy characters framed the theme of the rest of your week; dismal, steeped in disappointment, and colored by stress. Audition after audition flew by; you were on the fast track to nowhere. The interview with the grocery store manager was honestly the only thing you felt confident about, and the possibility of getting stuck working a dead-end job was disheartening. With no regard for your feelings, time chugged along until you found yourself staring blankly at the ceiling on Saturday night.

On a budget of eighty-five dollars for food, you were living off of ramen, canned corn, rice, beans, peanut butter sandwiches, and orange juice. It was enough to get you by for the time being. However, your main issue was finding a job before your well ran dry. You could afford five more weeks at Deadluck, but things were off to a rocky start. You’d spent the greater half of Friday in the public library applying to every single opening you qualified for. If no one got followed up with you on those applications, you weren’t sure what you were going to do.

Moping about wasn’t a way to get anything done, you understood that, but the library was closed and you’d already attended three auditions and another interview today. You couldn’t afford to go anywhere, and it wasn’t advisable to do so anyway because it was getting dark. Sightseeing was out of the question, so your only option was to watch the crappy cable, play a few games of Solitaire, or go downstairs to people-watch in the casino.

Maybe getting your mind off of things was exactly what you needed and staring at the boobtube wasn’t enough stimulation to force you out of your ruminations. The effort required to be presentable helped a bit; you were able to smile into the mirror with ruby-red lips and kohl-lined eyes. You laced yourself into your modest Symington, pulled on your garter belt and rayons, and slipped into your best voile dress. You had a single string of oversized, faux pearls to complete the ensemble.

Upon stepping out of the elevator, you smiled warmly at the cat monster. His real name was Buster, but for some reason everyone called him Burgerpants. The nickname felt more mocking than affectionate in your mind, so you took care to forever address him by his given name. “Well, well, well,” He flicked his ever-present cigarette to the other side of his mouth and grinned at you. “Our little, drowned mouse cleans up pretty good. Where ya headed off to in that get-up?”

“Evening, Buster!” You chirped. “I’m just checking out the casino. It occurred to me I’ve never had the pleasure of exploring it before.”

“Not a problem, tootsie roll. Lemme see your I.D. and I can get you set up with a guest’s comp package.” He took a cursory glance at your I.D., and then presented you with a tiny, decorative box. Lifting the lid revealed a small stack of golden tokens resembling the coins from the sign outside, a pair of paper tickets, a chocolate skull wrapped in golden foil, and a leather cord bracelet with a glass focal bead in the shape of a heart.  “That’s to getchya into the high roller lounge for an hour. Honestly, it’s kind of a hustle, so enjoy the hour, but don’t bother spendin’ anything. Wait until you’re in the lounge to use your meal and drink comps because the pit bosses hang out there when they aren’t doin’ their rounds, so the quality is higher than at the main bar in-house. The pit bosses are pretty hard to miss. Undyne looks like a ‘roided-out Mystique fucked a fish, and G.D. is basically the lovechild of a Yeti and the Wolfman. When they’re lookin’, you place your bets high and then low-ball when they move on. You keep yourself to the blackjack table, video poker, and the penny slots, understand?”

You cocked your head to the side. “Wait, are you seriously trying to teach me to play the house?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re a sweet girl, tootsie. We don’t have many of those in these parts, so I’m just lookin’ out for ya.” He leaned across the counter. “Now, go have yourself a good time, there’s a good band tonight.”

You thanked him profusely until his fuzzy cheeks were glowing, and then trotted happily through the casino’s entrance. The floor was packed like a tin of sardines full of humans and monsters. All around you were the merry bleeps of machines, the metallic tinkle of coins trickling through metal slots, and the ca-chunk ca-chunky of levers being pulled. Over all of the commotion, you could hear the band jump, jive, and wailing their hearts out from the loft overlooking the main floor.

The carpets here were a grassy green, the color of cold, hard cash, and everything around you cast showers of golden sun sparks. You strolled through the aisles aimlessly, dodging skimpy-skirted servers bearing trays of martinis, since your main goal was merely to enjoy the atmosphere. Maybe if you managed to come across an empty slot (highly unlikely due to the number of people currently moving about), you would take a chance on the penny slots using a few of your comp tokens. Right now, though, you were all about enjoying the energy and life of the place.

You hovered by a few of the poker tables for a few hands, but quickly grew bored of the silence and dull expressions. More entertaining by far were the slot machines of various reels and denominations. Each machine had its own theme from sushi to sports equipment, and you stopped at the pachinko machines for the longest time. Your mood was considerably boosted by the twenty-minute mark, especially since you finally were able to slip into an unoccupied 3-reel nickel slot without having to wait for too long.

Without thinking, you reached into your purse and rubbed your thumb over the beetle on your pocket watch before sliding the token in. The screen glowed as a shower of golden doubloons cascaded into a swimming pool. A duck exploded from the surface of the pool, spat a mouthful of golden coins at the top of the screen which proceeded to spell out ‘LUCKY DUCK’. The animation ended, the screen went black for a moment, and then a reel popped up. Six tiny pictures were lined up on the left side, each corresponding with a number. To spin it, you were expected to tap the red button beside the reel. Each token would get you three spins.

First spin, and you held your breath as the pictures whizzed by; duck, coin, clover, and you lost. Oh well, it wasn’t like you’d expected to win. This was all just for the fun of it, so you pushed the button again. This time, you got two clovers and a golden scarab beetle, and it wasn’t a win, but it did give you a free spin. Third spin and the reel gave you two ducks and a clover –two free spins. You poked the screen once more and the reel ticked down…

Without any warning, the machine exploded into a ruckus of music and light. The golden duck ripped through the reel on-screen and spat out the words ‘LUCKY DUCK’ over and over again. “Oh, sugar, no one’s won that one all night!” You glanced up to see a monster server smiling down at you gleefully.

“Um…what exactly did I win?”

“A night in the high roller lounge, two free drinks, and –oh, there come your three hundred tokens! I’ll get you a bucket for those, hold on.” She left you alone as the object of everyone in the vicinity’s attention.

“Did you use a trick?” Confused, you turned your attention to the person sitting at the machine beside you. It was a frazzled-looking young man with brown hair.

“No, I just…I just pushed the button. I’ve never really played before.”

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “Beginner’s luck! Damnit!”

The server came back with a medium-sized bucket that reminded you of a milk pail, helped you scoop the generous amount of game tokens into it, and then escorted you to the stairs leading up to the loft. There, standing beside the roped-off stairwell, was a monster fitting Buster’s description of the pit boss Undyne. “We’ve got a Lucky Duck, ‘Dyne!” The bunny server announced loudly.

“Cool, no one’s gotten that one in a while. Thought that machine was on the fritz, I was gonna have Alphys take a look at it. Good to know it’s workin’ fine.” Undyne smirked down at you before unclipping the rope to let you inside. “Congrats, punk.”

The loft was much less crowded than the lower level, although you felt a bit silly walking around with your milk pail full of tokens and a lost look. The lofted encircled the entire floor, overlooking the goings-on below, and was decorated handsomely. Leather sofas were shoved up against the walls with gold-engrained granite side tables laden with pamphlets and complimentary cigar trays. At the head of the loft was the stage where the band stood and a handful of patrons were loitering about the foot of the stage as well.

“SANS! SANS! GODDAMNIT, _SANS!_ ” You were yanked away back to earth by a screechy, angered shout originating from somewhere off to your right. “UNDYNE HAS INFORMED ME WE HAVE A LUCKY DUCK ROAMING THE LOUNGE! GO MAKE THEM FEEL WELCOME!”

“Fuck, can’t you do it? I got shit I need t’-“

“WOULD I BE PLACING SUCH A TASK IN YOUR HANDS IF I COULD?! TRULY, SANS, YOUR STUPIDITY KNOWS NO BOUNDS! OFF WITH YOU! SHOO! SKEDADDLE OR I WILL BE FORCED TO SPRITZ  YOU!”

Red stormed furiously onto the loft from a side door, scowling over his shoulder at his brother/business partner. “I’m gonna wring that shrink’s neck for suggestin’ that fuckin’ spritz bottle, see if I fuckin’ don’t!” He was obviously in a tizzy over being ordered about, so you did your best to blend in with the wall. Dealing with angry people wasn’t your forte and if this intimidating monster was resentfully obligated to search you out, you weren’t sure if you could handle him. “Where the fuck is that duck?” He grumbled under his breath.

You made yourself smaller, pressing your body into a tiny alcove between a carved pillar and a ficus, to avoid drawing any attention to your presence. He tromped on by, leaving you to breathe a sigh of relief…for about ten seconds before he immediately backtracked. “Sweetcheeks?!”

Your mouth went dry and all you could do was sheepishly walk out from behind the ficus. You weren’t entirely sure what possessed you to say it, but- “Uh…quack, quack?”


	5. Deal with the Devil

Like flipping a coin, his demeanor changed instantly. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned heavily on the marble pillar. An easy grin slid into place, and he raised an eyebrow playfully at you. “Hidin’, are we?”

“When you were talking with your brother back there, it sounded like you were busy.” You explained in a subdued voice. “If you have stuff you need to take care of, I can get on by myself. If he asks, I’ll tell him you stuck around.”

“You’d lie for me, sweetcheeks?” He put a hand to his chest. “I’m touched, but it ain’t necessary.” He waved you out of the corner and settled an arm around your shoulders. “You tell me where you wanna go an’ we’ll go, capisce?” You glanced at the boney hand draped over your upper arm and had a sudden flashback to a similar instance where leather-clad fingers had curled comfortingly over the ridge of your collarbone. For a brief moment, you wished away Red’s hand for that familiar gloved one, but he was only being polite in trying to make you feel welcome here. It would be rude to duck out from under his friendly gesture, despite how it had settled wrong in your stomach.

“What would you recommend?” You tried not to think about the heavy rings that winked at you from his fingers as they drummed a beat against your bare skin.

“Well, if yer up for it, we got a special menu for our special guests.” He winked conspiratorially. You knew what he was insinuating, but found yourself wondering how such a well-known business could get away with running a speakeasy.

“No, no, I’m…I’m not really fond of bathtub gin, thanks.” You shuddered a little at the thought. You’d grown up with the idea of the evils of alcohol and all those warnings did not fall on deaf ears. Plus, it reminded you of those bindle punks who’d tried to get a squeeze on you. “But don’t worry, I won’t be singing on your operation.”

“Oh, darlin’, you could sing all ya want.” He purred, his eye lights glowing brighter as the seconds ticked away. “It wouldn’t make any difference, but I appreciate the discretion.” He steered you along with him, although it was hard to keep pace with his longer stride. “So, how’s the town treatin’ ya? Like it so far?”

You scurried with him as he led you up to the bar that was built into the loft. The black granite was polished to an eye-blinding shine, and the seats were upholstered in crushed red velvet. The seat itself came up to your stomach. You struggled for a moment to clamber up on it before Red chuckled, picked you up, and plopped you down. He took the stool next to yours and motioned for the violet-flamed elemental soda jerk to send him a round. “I’ll just take a chocolate malt, please.” You pretended not to see the worker’s hand dip under the table for a moment as he prepared the casino owner’s drink.

“An’ she’ll have one of yer burgers, too with all the fixin’s, Grillbz.”

While you waited for the food, you decided the best way to deal with your…less than wanted companion…was to carry on the conversation. Thankfully, he kept his hands to himself from that point on. “It’s been kinda tough, but it’s nothing I can’t manage.” You confessed, tracing the veins of quartz in the counter with the tip of your finger. “I’m doing everything I can to find work, but I haven’t gotten any callbacks yet.”

“Jus’ takes time, sweetcheeks. Give it a couple o’ weeks, you’ll find somethin’.”

You half-smiled and scoffed. “Yeah, hopefully. I don’t wanna have to go back home, I don’t want to have to hear all the ‘I told you so’s.”

“Where’s ‘home’, if ya don’t mind me askin’?” He took a sip of his bubbling, spiked cola before making a face and asking the soda jerk for a splash of maraschino juice and a nip of vanilla.

“Pennsylvania.” The malt appeared in your line of vision, as did a plate piled high with thick-cut fries and a burger leaking grease. “Not much of a home, but I had a roof and food, so that’s something.” You looked up to find him staring at you with clear interest. “I was a ward of the state for most of my childhood. When I wasn’t being tossed from foster home to foster home, I spent my time at a boarding school –The Miles Hershe School for Girls.”

“Sorry t’ hear that.” He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “You…uhh…you got nobody, then?”

You lifted your shoulders in a shrug. “Sounds pathetic when you put it that way, but that about sums it up. My folks died in a house fire when I was three, and I was sent off to live with my pa-…my grandad. He passed away when I was six, so I ended up at the boarding school. In the country, nobody wants to adopt a girl. They all want boys to handle farm work, so I always ended up back at the school. I was offered a teaching position there once I turned eighteen, but that kind of life isn’t me.”

“Tough break, sister.” He plucked a couple fries from his own plate and popped them into his mouth. “But yer here now, so you should enjoy yourself. Everyone deserves a bit of fun now an’ again.” He nudged you with his elbow. “Tell ya what, how ‘bout we finish up here an’ I’ll take ya up t’ bandstand? Not much of a dancer mahself, more of a player if ya catch my drift, but I can’t stand for a long face in my house,’specially if it’s a pretty one.”

You perked up and smiled at him. He wasn’t so bad, now that you thought about it. Sure, he certainly wasn’t your mystery man, but Red seemed nice enough. He hadn’t tried anything, he’d done his best to make you feel comfortable, and now he was going a little out of his way to get you out of the dumps. “I’d like that.”

He wasn’t much of a talker himself, but occasionally he’d throw in a word or two to keep the conversation going. You learned he had a soft spot for flivvers and owned a Model A. You could tell he loved the thing from the way he described it in perfect detail and how he bemoaned the lengths he’d had to go to in order to get the parts for it. “Ya gotta see it. It’s got white-wall tires, a matchin’ white leather interior…damn, I haven’t had a chance t’ take Cherry out in a long-ass time.” He shook his head regretfully.

“You named your car?” You giggled into the dregs of your shake.

“I practically built that car, sweetcheeks, ‘course I fuckin’ named ‘er.” He grinned at you over his glass before gulping down the final swallow. “If ya want, we can step out for a tick an’ I’ll introduce ya, maybe even take a whirl ‘round the block.”

You were pretty full from all the food, so it would probably be a good idea to take a short walk or ride to let your food settle before you tried to do any dancing. “That sounds perfect, thank you!” You beamed up at him with wide eyes. Mob or not, he was performing as nothing less than a perfect gentleman.

His lopsided grin was so broad, it bared his gleaming, golden fang. “Glad t’ see ya finished off yer plate, too. I don’t trust any skinny minnies with a seat in my baby.”

You were primed to go, but a single thought snagged you as you slid off your stool. “What about your brother? Won’t he be mad if you leave?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Pssh, Boss? He’s the one who told me t’ make ya feel welcome. What’s more welcome than gettin’ a VIP experience with yours truly? C’mon, we’ll go out the side door so we don’t have t’ deal with the crowd downstairs.”

He brought you through the promised side door, down a level of outdoor stairs, to the reserved parking lot behind the building. The wind carried the sound of merriment from around front, but the entire lot was devoid of people. His car was easy to spot since it was parked as far away from all the other cars as possible and parked right under a street lamp. There was a soft sparkle to the brilliant, red paint job that made the Ford seem to glow in the soft, yellow light. “Wow….” You tucked your hands behind your back as you leaned over the hood. “It’s gorgeous.” You didn’t know much about cars, but it didn’t take an expert to know he wasn’t wrong to be proud of this one.

“Fuck yeah, she is.” He opened the passenger’s side door for you.

The interior was spotless, not a single pebble of gravel or speck of dirt to be seen, and even the floor mats matched. He slid into the driver’s seat, and you could feel the whole car tip down with his weight. You looked to him in slight surprise. For a guy made entirely of bones, he was big and apparently quite heavy. “Can we go somewhere quiet for a little while?” You hadn’t had the joy of real silence since you’d stepped off the bus and tonight was a beautiful night. It would be a shame not to have some peace to appreciate it.

“Your wish is my command.” After fiddling with the innumerable bits along the dash, and a gentle tug at the choke, the engine came to life with a wheezy, puttering cough. The drive through the streets was a wild one; while he was quite an expert behind the wheel, he was also a speed demon. He’d floored it out of the parking lot, somehow found an opening into the heavy traffic, and wove his way at an impossible speed down the highway. All other vehicles were a blur of color, steel, and smoke as he zipped along.

He turned onto a narrow byway about eight miles out of the strip, taking you both into a more suburban part of the city, before taking a right at a relatively deserted light and punching it. The paved road gave way to gravel and you could hear the odd ping from the undercarriage where a stone was kicked up by the tires and ricocheted off the underside of the wheel well. When he finally stopped, it was on the side of the road by the guardrails. The cityscape was sprawled out below, glittering with a million lights like a cave full of glowworms, and the only noises were the gentle love songs of the crickets. “Beautiful out here, don’tchya think?” He asked before getting out.

You joined him at the guardrail, your eyes following the highways that threaded through the city like an arterial network. Its lifeblood of taxis, pedestrians, trucks, and patrol cars pumped speedily through the body of Las Montañas. “I can see El Teatro Big Horn from here.” You pointed it out him. “That’s where I-…” You cut yourself off and bit your lip. Should you tell Red about the hotdog guy? After all, your friend hadn’t seemed like he wanted people to take much notice of him.

“That’s where you…?” He put a hand to his fedora as a strong breeze threatened to blow it right off his skull. “Can’t just start an’ stop like that, sweetcheeks. I’m a lot of things, but a mind-reader ain’t one of ‘em.”

“It’s where I made a friend.” You told him quietly. “A good friend…my _only_ friend, I think.”

“We ain’t friends?” Was it your imagination, or did he sound a bit stiff in asking that?

“I didn’t want to presume.” You rubbed your arms as the wind picked up again.

“Well, I can tell ya I don’t take every guest out for a spin in Cherry, sweetcheeks. She’s not a chippy, ya know.” He pulled a thick cigar from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “You mind?” He asked as he smoothly cut the end.

“Go ahead.” You shivered again and wished you’d thought to bring a pull-over.

He eyed you up and down as he toasted the cigar. Once it was lit, and he had his hands free, he pulled the car key out of his pocket again. “Hold on, I got somethin’ in the trunk that’ll make ya a little more comfortable.” He walked around to the back of the car, popped the trunk, and then came back. He laid it over your shoulders and stepped back with a smirk. “Better?”

It was a jacket, old and cut from black leather, with a fur-lined hood. You sucked in a breath, pulled it off and held it out in front of you for a closer examination. “You?!”

He shrugged and inclined his head. “Me.” He kept his eyes on the city as fingers of smoke caressed his face with every exhale. “Somethin’ wrong with that, sweetcheeks?” An amused chuckle resonated in his throat. “Put it on. You’ll catch yer death if ya don’t.”

“No, there’s…how? _Why_?” You obediently slipped the jacket on and zipped it up all the way. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’ve probably heard things, darlin’.” He took a drag off the cigar, held it behind his teeth for painfully long time, and then blew it out into the night to be swept away with the next zephyr. “Most of it’s true.”

“Okay-“ You took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then started again. “-okay, so, it’s true that you’re with the mafia? As in the literal, true-blue _mob_?”

“Technically.” He rolled out the growing ash head on the guardrail.

“How can you _technically_ be in the mob?! Are you with the mob or no?” You backed up from him a bit. This is what you got for trusting strangers in a strange place. Was he going to kidnap you? You weren’t good for a ransom, he should know that! You told him you were basically penniless only an hour ago!

“Things were pretty rough for monsters when we first came t’ the surface. Humans didn’t wanna hire us, but we still gotta eat, sleep, an’ make a livin’ like anyone else on this green earth. A few of us were desperate…a few of us knew poverty in the Underground an’ a few of us didn’t wanna live like that no more.” The fiery light of his cigar cast demonic, dancing shadows on his skull. “I made a deal with one o’ the Dons on the strip -don’t ask me who, sweetcheeks.” He held up a hand to and you closed your mouth. “I don’t wanna put you in a spot like that. Turns out, he needed somethin’ only I can provide.” He smirked and leaned forward on the railing. “Ya know that ol’ spiel about bein’ good at somethin’ an’ never doin’ it for free? Well, I got talents…talents not many other monsters do, an’ I ain’t afraid t’ use ‘em if it means my brother and I get t’ live comfortable-like.”

“You’re…you’re a criminal.” You took another step back. Your heart was racing so hard, it felt like it was skipping rope in your chest.

“Yep.”

“You’ve killed people…r-right?” You took a third cautious step away from him, wincing at the crunch of gravel that gave it away, but he made no move to stop you.

“A few, yeah.”

“A-and you’re going to kill me?” You squeaked fearfully as your behind bumped into the hood of his car upon taking a fourth step.

His shoulders stiffened, and his teeth clamped down on the cigar. “If I were gonna kill ya, don’tchya think I woulda done that by now?” His answer was sharp. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he sounded close to hurt. “We’re pals, right? I don’t do good people dirty. You’re good people, sweetcheeks…better than good, yer tops in my book. I swear t’ the stars I wouldn’t harm a hair on that pretty head.”

“Why did you help me?”

“I know what it’s like t’ have nuthin’…t’ be alone in a new place an’ all that. Couldn’t let a girl like you get chewed up an’ spat out for havin’ the balls to try t’ make a life for yourself.” He crossed the distance to the car and pinned you with the heaviest, most exhausted expression you’d ever seen cross a person’s face. “Truth be told, I’m sick of the life. I’ve been lookin’ for a way out for a while now. We got Deadluck, we don’t need the jobs from the Don now. Thing is, sweetcheeks, the mob life is a life sentence. As in the only way out is express shipping _á la_ body bag.” He leaned down to your level, bracing his hands on either side of the hood, and essentially trapping you between him and the car. “I helped you, sweetcheeks. Now, I’m askin’ for help. Believe me, I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to ‘cause it’s dangerous as shit an’ I like you. You said yer an actress, right? Well, darlin’, I need a leadin’ lady, so I hope you’re prepared t’ give the performance of a fuckin’ lifetime.”

“That’s a lot to ask of someone you’ve known for a week.” You pointed out. He scowled and turned his head to the side, but you reached out to touch his jaw. “I’ll do it. All I want in return is room and board…and a great letter of recommendation to any future employers.”

He took the cigar out of his mouth and smirked. “Done and done. You’ll get anythin’ and everythin’, sweetcheeks. I’ll take ya out shoppin’ myself, if I have to. You want it, it’s yours, but if you skip out on me…or if you try t’ double-cross me…” His scarlet eye lights pulsed and for a second you thought you saw a flash of fire in his sockets. “I will kill you so fuckin’ dead, ya hear?”


	6. The Lucky Lady

Whispers that there was to be a special, live-entertainment event spread like wildfire across the Ebott strip, and, despite repeated questioning by both the guests and press, the entire hotel continued to quietly prepare. Every morning at 3:00 am, when it came time for the casino’s services to be shut down, a small crew of hotel employees was noted to move in with various boxes, ladders, and equipment. Everyone was abuzz with excitement over what the event could possibly be and theories ranged from a fireworks display shot from the roof of the hotel to things as outrageous as charity girls being shoved into fake cakes to be served to the guests.

You, however, were busy pondering your own set of questions. Such as the purpose of a sheer bit of scarlet, sequined silk Red had commissioned to be tailored for you. “What the heck is this supposed to be?”  You pulled it gently from the box and held it up to the light. The thousands of sequins glittered like gemstones in the sun and patterns of light reflected up and down your hands.

“Yer costume.” Red leaned against the wall of your new room. Now that you were in the hotel’s employ, you were given special quarters in the basement level, where several of the other employees also had their own apartments. “Well, that’s the dress bit, anyway. There’s gloves, shoes, a hairpiece, and some jewelry t’ go with it.” He nudged the boxes and bags on the floor next to him with the tip of his shoe. “Hope you know how t’ apply this Halloween pancake make-up shit ‘cause we had t’ pick up some of that, too.”

“Right,” You turned the slip of shimmering silk this way and that, trying to make heads or tails of it…or at least to find the head-hole. “This would be so much easier if you gave me a script.”

“Do I look like a playwright t’ you?” He scoffed, picked up a shoebox and put it on the bed. “Ya said ya were a size eight, right?”

“Well, seven and a half, but my feet swell when I’m dancing or walking a lot.” You gave up on the ‘dress’ and moved on to the shoes. Lifting the lid of the shoebox, you were rewarded with another eye-watering amount of sequins…this time glued to a pair of shoes with heels so high and thin, you were suddenly very aware of the accuracy of the creator in naming the style after the stiletto dagger. “Do you want me to impress the guests or blind them?” You raised an eyebrow at him skeptically.

“Hey, from what the guy said sequins are sexy, and _sex sells_ , so that’s what yer wearin’.” But you succeeded in making him laugh, so his tone wasn’t as sharp as it could have been.

You gathered everything up in your arms and headed into the bathroom to try it all on. You could hear him moving about in the other room as you changed. The last major accessories you put on were those murder shoes, the golden elbow-length opera gloves, the make-up and the feather-laden hairpiece. The hairpiece was a stretchy, red lace band that encircled your entire head and was decorated with a grinning skull with coins for eyes and scarlet-dyed feathers that sprouted from the crest of its cranium. On your right hand, you slid a heavy ring. It was thick, made of solid gold, and engraved with a skull as well. It gleamed, and seemed to be very much at home on the third finger of your left hand. It felt fitting to put it there since your character was essentially ‘married’ to the idea of the casino.

The pancake makeup felt heavy, yet comforting, as if it were there as a barrier between you and the world at large. It gave you courage where you had none. When you stepped back to view your entire body in the mirror, you could barely recognize the person staring back. “Okay, I’m coming out!” You announced.

“Finally, it took ya long enough, swe-“ His lower mandible dropped comically down for a second, and then he seemed to regain his sense of self. He adjusted his suit jacket with a sharp jerk and cleared his throat. “Looks good.”

You did a slow twirl. “You think so?” The fabric spun out with your movements and caught the light. It sent refracted beams all across the room. The dress, after muddling through how to put it on, was scandalously short, but that fact was mostly hidden by the length of the fringe that dangled to form a secondary skirt that ended mid-thigh. You struck a Vanna White-style pose. “You’re not saying anything. Is it that horrible? I _told_ you the sequins were tacky-“

He shook his head, seemingly dazed. “Nah, nah, seriously ya look great.” He picked up a long, narrow box. “One last thing…it’s a personal touch, I figured ya’d like it.” He opened it up with an expression of deepest pride.

“Is that my beatin’ stick?” You withdrew the cane from the box and tested the weight of it in your hands.

He snickered. “Beatin’ stick? What the hell’re ya on about, woman?”

You admired the beautiful, hand-carved quartz topper that served as the cane’s head. The skull motif was used again here, as the cane topper was carved from gold-veined white quartz into a smiling skull. The body of the cane was made of some gold-plated metal that corkscrewed down to a red rubber bottom cap. “You know, to keep the boys in line…and some of the girls, too?”

His eye lights winked out, even as his grin grew. “If anyone lays a hand on ya, you come t’ me. I’ll take care of it. You don’t go to my bro. You don’t go to Undyne, or Alphys, or Burgerpants, _you come straight t’ me_.”

“But what if-“

“ _You. Come. To. Me._ ” He growled out. “I don’t care what I’m doin’ or where I’m at. Even if I’m in a fuckin’ meetin’ with the Don himself, you find me an’ I _will_ take care of it. We clear?”

“Crystal.” You nodded.

He visibly relaxed. “Perfect. Are you ready for yer big debut, m’lady?” He offered you his arm.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” You smiled back. Nerves twisted your guts into knots, but you knew that once you were out there…out in the spotlight…instinct would take over from there. This was where you belonged, after all.

It began with your musical cue; the first few notes on the piano in the darkened casino. None of the guests were allowed to begin using the machines yet, but they were still packed inside…waiting…waiting on you, even if they didn’t know who you were, yet. But that piano and then came the loud POP of a spotlight sounded to focus in on the middle of the bandstand in the loft of the high roller’s lounge.

You were still in the room with Red, magic pooling in his hands and dripping like fog from one of those concert effects machines. Boss’s footsteps echoed in the hushed casino, each step accompanying a note on the piano, until he reached the spotlight. “Thank you all for coming tonight!” His scarred skull scanned the hundreds of people packed in below him. “This evening, we would like to announce the arrival of the newest addition to our casino. I’m sure some of you have heard the stories, but I can assure that none of them come close to the magnificence of reality. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my pleasure to give your care over to my lovely friend…” A drum roll on snare took up with the slow piano. “THE MARVELOUS…THE EXTRAORDINARY…” He raised one hand high above his head as if he were about to wave a flag at a race. “THE GORGEOUS PATRON SAINT OF DEADLUCK HOTEL AND CASINO…” He threw down the hidden capsule, which exploded into a wall of scarlet smoke and Red immediately pulled up a warp. “LAAAAAAADY LUCK!”

You stepped regally through the warp. Once you were through, Red closed the warp and you were left alone in the smoke. It was thickened by magic, so it lingered for longer than it would have naturally. You had more than enough time to get into a proper pose, and when the smoke finally cleared the crowd let out a collective gasp.

You could imagine what they saw; a woman, bent over at the waist, her arms open and one hand clutching that enormous cane. You snapped up like a leash and been tightened, and you saw a few people flinch. “Thank you, handsome.” Lady’s voice came in a sultry purr. “Good _evening_ , my fellow sinners.” She twirled her cane slowly, and walked across the stage with the spotlight following her every move. “I’m Lady Luck and I have the Midas Touch. Everything I touch…” Lady plucked the ascot from the pianist’s throat, shook it, showed it to the audience once, and then balled it up in her fist. With a bit of sleight of hand, she made it ‘disappear’, and allowed a shower of tokens to fall over the edge of the bandstand into the crowd. “…turns to gold before your very eyes.” She waved her hand and Alphys, on cue, flipped a switch in her control room that made a line of slots spring to life. “I am the Saint of Sinners. The Goddess of Gold. I am the Designer of Dreams and the Fulfiller of Fantasy. Tonight, I am also your Hostess.” She swung out her cane and rest of the lights burst into being. “Welcome to Deadluck Casino; where the good times roll like dice and Lady Luck is _always_ on your side.” Lady threw down her own smoke bomb and hopped back out of the warp.

Outside, you could hear the entire casino explode into applause. In the side room, Red was waiting for you. “Holy fuck, was that all improv?!” He clapped his hands on your shoulders. “Tell me that was fuckin’ improv, sweetcheeks.”

“Yeah, it just kind of…I dunno..came to me, I guess.” You grinned sheepishly. “Was it good, then?”

“’Was it good?’ She asks.” Red tapped your shoulder with the back of his hand. “That was fuckin’ phenomenal, is what it was!” He slipped his arm over your shoulders. “You keep that up, and I’ll buy ya a Rolls Royce, babydoll. You’ll cruise this town in style.”

“So, I guess I’ll just kind of roam the casino for the rest of the night, then?” You asked as he led you away from the others.

“Yeah, yeah, just make sure you touch someone now an’ again. Undyne will keep an eye on you while you’re engaging the guests. She’ll let me know who gets the Midas Touch.” He rubbed his hands together. “Sweetcheeks, this is the beginning of somethin’ special, I can feel it in my bones!”


	7. Welcome, Beautiful People!

“This better be worth all the fuckin’ time we spent rehearsin’.” Red grumbled as he adjusted his gold, satin tie.

Boss checked your hidden harness for the third time in a row, unnecessarily fiddled with the buckles to assure himself they were tight enough, and stepped back with a sigh. “If this performance is not worth the _money_ we spent, I am holding you directly responsible for this, brother.” His tone was cold, but his eye lights were dimmed by concern. “Your pet project could potentially put us in the poor house _and_ get us killed.” He frowned at you, and then made a minute adjustment to straighten your hairpiece.

“Guys, guys, _trust me_.” You casually leaned on your cane, tested the balance once more on the tips of your sequined shoes, and grabbed one of the smoke bomb capsules from their bowl on Boss’s desk. “Dress rehearsal went well, so as long as nothing short of an act of some god or another happens there will be nothing to stop this show from going on!”

“I still say the tightrope is too thin.” Boss yanked on his leather gloves and buttoned his blazer as he spoke, which was the fourth or fifth time he’d done both of those things, too. You’d noticed he tended to repeat actions over and over again when he was on edge.

“The tightrope is standard and extremely safe.” You stated calmly. “I had to do this kind of thing once before in a performance of Hamlet with the ghost bit. Not exactly the same thing, mind you, but the idea is similar.”

“Boss, let sweetcheeks do ‘er thing.” Red was always your most vocal advocate, the one who hadn’t doubted your skills from the moment he’d trusted you with the role of Lady Luck, and he consistently had your back whenever his brother voiced his reservations. “Now, you _sure_ you don’t want a net, babydoll?”

“That defeats the purpose of the tightrope being clear, doesn’t it?” You patted his arm lightly. “I’ll be fine, you’ll see, just don’t forget to catch me when I let go!”

“You can count on me.” He, too, grabbed a smoke bomb, as did Boss.

Undyne, Alphys, and the bunny monster servers were lined up in the room. You smiled warmly at all of them. “Does everyone remember the steps I taught you? Last chance to ask me if you’re struggling with something.” They collectively shook their heads, although Alphys seemed to be shaking a little. “Hey, we’re all in this together, aren’t we? It’s okay, we’re gonna do great. They’re gonna love us!” You hugged Alphys. “Don’t forget your fans, ladies, ttfn!”

Alphys reached out to her control board and hit a button to start the pre-programmed lighting cues she’d set up. The casino’s main lights blinked out and were replaced with a pair of spotlights.“B-be careful, Lady. I don’t want to have to conduct any autopsies tonight.” She warned with a watery smile.

Outside, the drummer took his cue and started a roll on his snare as the lights swiveled around the room. A few members of the band tossed their own smoke capsules on the floor and crushed them with their shoes. The trademark scarlet smoke blanketed the bandstand, and Red opened a warp out to the stage for you.

You used the distraction to clip your harness to the hairline tightrope that was safely secured to the loft’s sturdy, iron railing. The lights spun slower with every second that passed until they finally crossed right over the spot where you were standing. The smoke was still dense, so when your seemingly disembodied voice filled the casino, it was as if you were speaking from everywhere and nowhere at once. “ ** _Wilkommen!_** _**And bienvenue**! _**Welcome** _!”_ Slow toots from the trumpet echoed behind you. “ ** _Fremder, étranger,_** **stranger**. **_Glücklich zu sehen_**. **_Je suis enchanté!_** ” Lady stepped out of the cloud, trailing sanguine smoke like a dragon leaving her den. “ ** _Bleibe, reste,_** **stay.** **_Willkommen! And Bienvenue!_ Welcome!**” An accordion joined the notes with its own, dusty wheezes. “ ** _Im cabaret, au cabaret,_ to cabaret!**” Lady swept the head of her cane across the expanse of air ahead of her in clear address of her audience. “ ** _Meine damen und herren, mes dames et messieurs_ …ladies and gentlemen**. **_Guten Abend! Bon Soir!_ Good evening!**” A hushed hum of confused conversation could be heard over the gradual climb of the music. “ ** _Wie geht’s? Comment ça va?_** ” Lady beamed down at her spectators. “ **Do you feel** **good?** ” She opened her arms in invitation. “ ** _Ich bin eur confrencier! Je suis votre compère!_** **I am your host! _Und sage Willkommen! And bienvenue!_ Welcome! _Im cabaret, au cabaret,_ to cabaret!**”

The entire casino was dangling from every word that left Lady’s rosebud lips. Even the well-dressed trigger men who served as security detail were left gaping up at this woman who seemed to float as she moved above their heads. “ **Leave your troubles outside. So life is disappointing? Forget it!** ” She balanced herself with the weight of her cane and did a slow, tight spin with her arms wide. “ **In here, life is beautiful. The girls are beautiful.** ” She gestured at the band with the head of her cane, making sure to time her movements to move seamlessly with a third spotlight as it focused in on the band. “ **Even the orchestra is beautiful!** ” Cymbals crashed to punctuate her words and the music blared to life at full force.

Every eye was on the shimmering, golden damsel above as she danced with her cane in place of a living partner. She tossed it this way and that, always catching it with the tips of her fingers, and passing it between her hands as freely and carelessly as if she’d been born with it clutched in her tiny fist. Around her, the very air seemed to glimmer with the enchanted, fragile promises of fickle fate.  Behind her, talented fingers tickled ivory keys while she performed a single, daring flip. To any onlooker, she was flying, floating, and flipping unassisted; she was a specter in scarlet, and a dancing mirror of glitzing glamor.

On her final flip, she crouched low and jabbed her cane in the direction of a side door. “ **And now presenting the cabaret girls!** ” Dressed in high-waisted, golden dresses and bearing enormous ostrich-feather fans dyed the color of blood, the servers and ladies of the casino appeared at Lady Luck’s behest. “ **Each and every one a virgin!** ” Answering her claim was a scattering of doubtful guffaws. She rose and smiled. “ **You don’t believe me? Well,** ” She strode boldly to the edge of the railing and nudged the nearest girl with the end of her cane. “ **Don’t take my word for it. Go ahead and ask her!** ” The bunny monster giggled loudly, as she was meant to, and moved along. Lady chuckled to herself, sticking her cane out farther and stopping poor Alphys from proceeding with the others. “ **Outside it is winter, but in here it is so hot! Every night we have the battle to keep the girls from taking off all their clothing, so don’t go away-** “ She shrugged. “ **Who knows? Tonight, we may lose the battle!** ” Using the end of her cane, she pushed Alphys’s slipping strap back into place and turned away.

“ ** _Und sage! Willkommen! And Bienvenue!_ Welcome!**” The servers sang as they twirled their fans above their heads and spun out to line the stairs leading down to the main floor. “ ** _Im cabaret, au cabaret,_ to cabaret!**”

“ **We are here to serve you!** ” Lady reminded the audience as she urged her compatriots down the way.

On wings of musical notes, the night took flight. Feathers waved, winded, and fluttered in every direction. People watched, their mouths opened wide enough to stuff in their fists, with rapt attention divided equally between the beauteous director and her troupe. Magic was in the air, and not simply that of monster origin, although that was certainly a card currently in play, but also a sorcery of the imagination wielded from the end of a skull-topped walking stick.

“ ** _Bleibe, reste,_** **staaaay!** ” Alphys called out joyfully as she opened the rope that locked off the lounge. From above, the side door slammed open once more and the brothers Osseus stepped out.

“ ** _Willkommen! And bienvenue!_ Welcome!**” The servers burst into fervent chorus to highlight their appearance. The brothers removed their fedoras and held them to their chests in reverence of their patrons. “ ** _Im cabaret, au cabaret,_ to cabaret!** **_Wir sorgen!_** “

In deep, resonating baritone, the skeleton brothers could be heard as they followed the servers’ lead down the stairs. “ ** _Willkommen! And bienvenue!_ Welcome!**” Every third step, they stomped their feet and jumped back a single step. “ ** _Fremder, etranger,_ stranger. _Glücklich zu sehen, Je suis enchanté-_**

“ ** _Enchanté, madame!_** ” Lady called into the crowd as the brothers approached, cueing them to replace their fedoras. Lady joined up with them in an energetic soprano. “ **Happy to see you, happy to see you! _Bleibe, reste,_ stay! _Und sage-_** “

 _En concerte_ , the band, servers, brothers, and the Lady Luck dazzled their guests. “ ** _Willkommen! And bienvenue!_ Welcome! _Fremder, etranger,_ stranger! _Glücklich zu sehen, Je suis enchanté,_ happy to see you! _Bleibe, reste,_ staaaaaay!” **

The music climbed with that note, crashed, and began to swing with the beat as the skeleton brothers set a steady, timed clap. “ ** _Willkommen! And Bienvenue!_ Welcome! _Im cabaret, au cabaret,_ to cabaret!**” Lady bounced, seemingly in mid-air, with the rhythm, raised her hand on with the music once more, and quickly reached behind her to secretly unclip her harness before plummeting from her invisible highwire. A few of the guests screamed as she executed a tidy backflip only feet before landing squarely in the skeleton brothers’ locked arms in time for the final note. She smashed her hidden capsule into the floor and Red warped the three of them back to the office.

“That was amazing!” You flung your arms around Red’s neck. Boss immediately withdrew and retreated with a calculated expression. “Wasn’t that amazing?!” You asked him over your shoulder.

“It was…satisfactory.” Boss tucked his hands behind his back. “No one perished. I deem it acceptable to incorporate into the nightly act.”

You pouted, feeling somewhat hurt at the admittedly anti-climactic reaction. You’d honestly been hoping to impress him at least a tiny bit. “Well, every party needs a pooper.” You blew a raspberry at him and grinned at Red. “You can let me down now, by the way.”

He coughed into his fist as a faint blush appeared on his cheekbones. “Yeah, guess I can…heh, you were great out there. Don’t let asshat over there ruin it for ya.” He fished a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over. “That crap is smeared down yer neck. Don’t wanna ruin that new dress, eh?” He rubbed at your neck until he’d cleaned the residue of the black and white makeup away. “Good as new. You need anything before ya head back out on the floor?”

“Nah, I’m good.” You watched him tuck the hankie into his back pocket, unable to stop a whisp of admiration at the way he filled out his suit from crossing your mind. You tore your eyes away from him and started for the door. “I’m thirsty as heck. I’ll be over at the lounge bar if anyone needs me!”


	8. Look, Don't Touch

Great, now he was alone in the office with Boss. That was exactly where he _didn’t_ want to be. His brother strode into the cubicle-esque area and quickly slid the black fabric screen to separate himself off. From behind the screen, Red could hear him typing away on his desktop computer. “Boss, I’ma take-“

“I don’t care what you do as long as you’re not in my way.” Was his answer.

“Fuck you, too.” Red snarled under his breath and hid himself away in his own half of the office. His was a mess of destroyed stress balls, papers, as well as various odds and ends. He reclined in his desk chair and shut his sockets for a moment to think. Boss had been pissier lately, and it was probably because he knew Red was using this girl to get out.

Oh, sure, sweetcheeks was a peach, but if Red didn’t get out from under Don Taglioni’s thumb he was liable to kill the pompous sonuvabitch outright…which wouldn’t be good. Everyone would know it was him, even if there wasn’t any evidence –especially if there wasn’t any evidence. He didn’t want a war with the other Dons over that lumpy turd in a three-piece suit. No, he was gonna make it look natural, and to make it look natural he had to have someone who was on the inside, yet also on the _outside_ of things.

Just a few more weeks, he’d build up a lot of propaganda for this girl. He might’ve been using her, but she was crazy talented. Hell, he was considering keeping her around after the Don was finally sucking dicks in hell.  Only a couple of weeks in, and she had already brought in more customers than he’d thought. He had to admit she was pretty fine in that dress, too.

His hand strayed to his pocket and he stared at the handkerchief. It was still stained with her makeup, which smelled like ashes and chemicals, but underneath that he caught a faint whiff of rosehips and oranges. She ate oranges by the bag, so latter didn’t surprise him. The rosehips, though, was that some kind of perfume oil?

He brought it closer to his face and sniffed. Being a monster, he could detect a few things besides the perfume. He could smell a bit of her sweat –completely normal since that act made him sweat bullets and he didn’t even do _half_ of what she did, but he could also learn a few other things. For one thing, she was ovulating. “Someone’s gonna get a surprise pack of tampons an’ chocolate~…” He snickered to himself over the thought of her walking out of her apartment on Monday and finding a brown bag full of ‘necessities’. Maybe he was an asshole, but he was a _thoughtful_ asshole sometimes. That, and if he didn’t take care of her no one else would. Someone had to make sure she didn’t get herself shot, raped, cussed at, or robbed. She was working for him, so he might as well protect his asset to the best of his ability.

Asset…yeah…that was a logical, objective way of referring to her. He’d use that from now on. The asset…God in Heaven, her _ass_ \- “hoo boy, no, no, no. Stop that.” He growled at himself, irritated that he was still thinking about it. He touched it…well…kinda…it had landed in his hands, but it didn’t really count as coping a feel when he was the one making sure she didn’t hit the floor and break her fucking neck.

She was also vitamin-deficient. “You are gettin’ a multivitamin and lotsa spinach, little lady.” He scolded the handkerchief. He couldn’t have her anemic or walking around with a sallow face. Her pretty face was bringing in the beaucoup bucks. _Damn, she was gorgeous-_ “Ahh, fuck.” He glared at the handkerchief accusingly. “This is _business_ , man. Pull yerself together, this ain’t no time t’ be dizzy with a dame.”

“Sans! Stop grumbling! You’re distracting me from doing the accounting work, which is _very_ important. If you’re going to mumble to yourself, do it outside!” Boss shouted from across the room.

“Fine!” He jumped to his feet and stuffed the hankie back into his pants. He was glad for the excuse to be moving. If he was moving, maybe he could distract himself. “I’m gettin’ a gin an’ tonic. You want anythin’ from the bar?”

“Really, Sans?” Boss glared at him over the top of the divide. “Drinking during working hours?”

“It’s my casino, too, fuckface.” Red snapped back. “An’ I drink in my house if I wanna.”

“Sloppy.” Boss shook his head in disapproval before sitting back down. “I suggest you avoid getting drunk if you want her to like you. You’re disgusting when you’re drunk. Last time, I found you in a pool of your own vomit watching kittens getting jump scared by vegetables. Do you know how much I question every day rather we were born in inverse order? DO YOU?”

“You weren’t born, Boss. You were grown in a lab right next t’ the rats.” Sans told him with a straight face.

“I hate you.” Boss groaned and let his skull fall against his computer screen.

“Yeah, I know, I know. When’s dinner gonna be ready?” He asked with his hand on the doorknob.

“For the last time, _its breakfast,_ and it’ll be done at six am. Don’t forget to wash your hands.” Boss sighed deeply. “Your laundry is folded up on your bed, which is also made. For heavens’ sakes, whatever you do, don’t show her that pigsty you call an apartment.”

“Why the hell would I take her into my apartment?” He rounded on Boss, and his sharp phalanges popped holes in the fabric divider as he clutched at it in a threat to rip it away.

“Well, aren’t you buddy-buddy with her?” Boss smirked knowingly at him.

“S-she an’ I…” Red spluttered, and then sneered at his brother. “I’m gettin’ a _double._ ” He yanked the door open and stomped out of the office.

He was not in the mood for his brother’s wiseguy bullshit. By now, he figured you’d long ago left the bar, so he should be safe. “Red!” He was so caught up in being pissed, he didn’t notice he’d almost trampled you over. “Thank goodness!” You shot a panicked look over your shoulder. “I-“

“Uh…now ain’t exactly a good time for me, sweetcheeks.” He peeled your hands off his chest.

“But you said I could come to you if someone-“ She shuddered and made a face.

 _Oh_. He took some time to look you over and finally noticed a few things he hadn’t at first; one of your gloves was missing and he could see an angry-looking red mark on your exposed wrist. Now, the reason why he’d drilled it into your head to come to him about these things was that it was almost guaranteed to happen at some point. It was unavoidable; when one got a bunch of drunken people in one place, more than one was likely dumb enough to try something with the staff. All of the servers had dealt with it before, and he was pretty sure Undyne had flattened a few _extremely_ idiotic assholes who’d tried to get fresh with her, too. “I hope he’s got life insurance.” He pulled you under his arm. “Point ‘im out, sweetcheeks.”

“He’s still at the bar, I think.” You huddled under his arm like it was an umbrella in a deluge. “I-I’m sorry…I broke character-“

“Yeah, and I’ma break ‘is face.” He was boiling over right about now. He’d been looking for a distraction and his luck had literally followed through for him. “Give me the low-down, so I can be on the up an’ up.”

“Well, I sat down at the bar and he moved from the opposite end to talk to me. He offered to pay for my drink, but I thanked him and said it wasn’t necessary. We talked for a while, but he was bing cat sizing me up as a chippy with his hand on my leg.” He glanced down and noted one of your rayons had been ripped. “I swear, I told him to stop. He didn’t, so I waved Grillby over and he distracted him while I made a run for it, but he saw me at the last second and grabbed my hand. Thank goodness these gloves are slippery!” You put a hand over your heart and stumbled over nothing.

“Hey, it’s good. I’ll gate ‘im. Make sure he knows he’s not welcome ‘round here no more.” He squeezed your shoulder. “ _After_ I set him wise by mashing his mug to paste. He’ll be so ugly when I’m done with ‘im, he won’t even be able t’ get laid at a dive creep joint.”

“You’d do that?”

He couldn’t take the way you were looking at him right now. It made his magic churn and messed with his head. It made him want to do stupid shit. He wanted you to look at him like he was some kind of hellfire hero all the time. “Dunno if yer familiar with the phrase, but-“ Magic fizzed forth from his sockets as his fury got the better of him. “-Red means dead, sweetcheeks.”

He found the skeeze at the bar with Grillby, picked him up by his collar and hauled him off his stool. You stood off to the side, hands bunching up the fabric of your dress, and silently watching. Your natural habitat may be the stage, but _his_ was here and now. His element was the rough-‘em-up lifestyle and he took a certain pleasure in walking that line. When he thought about it, he liked to consider himself as a tumble-polished gentleman…at least, with the ladies, he did.

He’d been through a lot of shit to work his way to the top. When monsters were freed, they’d come close to being annihilated by the knee-jerk reaction of the government. Thankfully, the red tape involved with bombing the shit out of a newly discovered race on American soil near civilian homes and businesses was too much for the fatcat politicians to deal with. Or, as they’d put it… they were being ‘humane’.

Instead of a quick death, monsters were smashed with the hammer of an unofficial social and economic embargo. Businesses were quick to put ‘No Monster Need Apply’ signs in shop windows and segregation between humans and monsters wasn’t unheard of. Monster children were homeschooled until a shoddy brick hovel was erected to provide training in trades, but not true book-learning. With most monster parents working themselves ragged just to pay bills, they didn’t have time or energy to provide additional education to their kids. It was leading up to an entire generation of monsters who would be completely illiterate, and thus intellectually crippled in the dog-eat-dog workforce, or at the least be severely limited in their abilities.

It sickened him. Now, most humans were okay, especially when it came to the poorer, working class. Those types of humans knew what it was like to be stuck under the grinding heel of a prejudiced system. Maybe they didn’t know the exact experience of the Underground, or all the killing that happened down there, but they understood the drive to survive in a cutthroat world. They knew what it felt like to put blood, sweat, and tears into something only for it to be destroyed by cruel reality. He could respect that, and he did. Like he’d told you, he didn’t do good people dirty –monsters _or_ humans.

It was the ones like Don Taglioni who wriggled their way under his theoretical skin like a nasty infestation of chiggers, and making him go crazy with the itch. He had an itch to see Taglioni, the smug pig-faced bastard, throw in at a high-stakes table and lose. He was gonna show him how thoroughly he’d fucked up when he’d hired Red on. It was gonna be slow, and it was gonna be painful, Red would make _sure_ it was.

Whereas others had scorned and mocked monsters, even as low-life criminals themselves, Don Taglioni had spotted an enterprising opportunity. Monsters had magic, and magic wasn’t something humans understood very well yet. Mages were few and far between, the burning of ‘witches’ hundreds of years back had made them an all the greater rarity from what Red understood of history, and most were still too afraid of being lumped in with monsters even if it meant they could do some good. Taglioni was a fuckwad and he was as racist as they came, but he wasn’t an idiot. He was a businessman and every great businessman knew how to exploit the shit out a new opportunity and come at things from a Chinese angle if he had to.

Red had an ace in his pocket now, though, and he hedging his bets until he saw his chance to play it. Anyone who endangered his chances of revenge and freedom was gonna meet with a sticky end. That included the smoked wiseass who was currently taking a swing at him. He caught the man’s fist in his own, slowly applying increasing pressure until he felt the delicate bones begin to bend and the guy howled like a wolf at the moon. He was a daisy, but the booze in this guy’s system was giving him a higher pain tolerance and all the liquid courage still had him convinced he could lay Red out.

Red dragged him along to the exit door, and you followed faithfully like a stray puppy. “It’s curtains for you, Bo.” He growled into the man’s booze-blushed face. “Let’s take this outside, pal. You an’ me’s gonna have a chat, see?” As strong as he was, and he was a real Samuel in spite of his HP problem, it was still difficult to haul the guy down the outer stairs with all the wiggling he was doing. It was like holding on to a slimy grub fresh out the wet dirt, so he made it easier on himself and chucked him down the stairs to the pavement below.

It wasn’t a long drop, but he heard a snap as the guy landed wrong on his ankle. Good, it meant he wouldn’t have to expend magic to make sure the asshole couldn’t run. The wooden soles of his cap-toed Armani shoes made a slow clop over the blacktop, stopping beside the woozy, groaning drunk and kicking him over onto his back. His heel was at home on the heaving human’s chest. “Dunno where yer from, bimbo, but ‘round here it’s ‘look, don’t touch’.” He pressed down to keep his breathing shallow and painful. “Maybe at other joints, you get t’ fondle the ladies, but I’m the kinda guy  t’ _put my foot down_ on that sorta shit.”

“Ah, _Rouge_ , whenever I hear those jokes of yours, it brings back memories of home!” A cheerful voice rang out from the shadows of the lot. Red jerked his head up, spying the faint pinprick of a burning cigarette and the tell-tale scent of mint that accompanied it. “And by that, I mean it reminds me of the finest, stinkiest cheeses, _mon ami_ e. How is my favorite trouble man doing on this lovely night, hmm?”

Red grinned. “I’m throwin’ ‘em high, how ‘bout you?”

“Well, unfortunately, I’m lagging on the gas today.” The pinprick of light grew as his friend took a long drag from his menthol. “So, I thought I’d have a fag before I went inside, but it seems you’ve come to me this time. I have a job from Skintag.” The Frenchman stepped into the light, tossing away the butt of his cigarette as he did so, and smirked at the guy on the ground. “ _Bon soir_ , deadman.”

Red gritted his teeth. He wasn’t in the mood for this, but if the Frenchman had come to him it had to be both urgent and important. Taglioni, or Skintag as was sometimes known, had more than likely ordered him to seek out Red personally. It was a rare thing, but it had happened in the past. “What’s the job?”

“Nothing that can’t wait for you to finish your business here.” The Frenchman tucked his cigarette case back into his breast pocket and happened to glance at the bottom of the stairs where you clung to the railing like ivy. “And who is this? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you before, _chérie_.” A wide, pleasant smile broke over his face as he approached you and gave a dramatic bow. “Bernard St. Clarence, always at the service of the lovely ladies.” He extended his hand, took your gloved hand and brought it briefly to his lips. “But, please-“ His smile widened as you blushed and giggled. “-call me Swifty.” Silver-dollar eyes glinted at you as he lifted his hat and brushed the curve of your ear. “Maybe you’ve heard of me? Shall I guess?” He gave a gentle tug and flicked his wrist, and came away with a square of paper. “Ah, my card, you _have_ heard of me.” He slipped it smoothly between your lips and stepped back. “Swifty St. Clarence; bootlegger and rum runner _extraordinaire_!”

Red narrowed his sockets at his old friend. “Got a proposition for ya, slick.” Swifty turned to him with a broad grin plastered over his face. “We put a tap on that tongue of yours an’ start up a hair oil business.”

Swifty laughed long and loud. “I cannot help it!  I am a long, lean, loving machine, _mon amie_. Now, hurry along with this wrong number. I have other deliveries, you know.”

Red frowned at that news. “You ain’t comin’?”

Swifty’s smile faltered and faded, and he tipped his hat lower. “Not tonight, _Rouge_. I was hoping to visit Alexandre’s grave before I have to deliver Antony’s order to his boys down at the wharf.”

He clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder and passed him a flask.“Sorry, Frenchie. Give Alex a snort of gin for me, alright?” He felt dumb as a rock for forgetting; it had been a year tonight that Swifty’s older twin brother had passed away in a fire-fight. Those two had been day and night; Swifty was caught up in the mob, but his brother had been a straight-laced gum-shoe with a knack for putting bracelets on gangsters. Hell, the business with Alexandre was part of the reason Red wanted out so bad. It wasn’t right what happened to him, and Don Taglioni was directly to blame.

He’d put the hit out on Alexandre. He figured him to be one of the few real threats to his operation; despite the fact Alex turned a blind eye on Taglioni’s men because his brother ran for them. He wasn’t wrong; Alexandre would have eventually tried to take Skintag down on sheer principle to get Swifty out of the life.

Swifty recovered from his gloom quickly. “Will do.”

“So, who’d ya bring t’ be my partner on this one, then? Better not be fuckin’ Johnson. He’s always askin’ t’ drive Cherry. _I_ drive Cherry; she won’t purr for anyone else.” Red griped.

Swifty shook his head. “No one, _mon amie_. I trust you can handle it alone, you’re the best driver I’ve ever worked with.”

“Aw, now you’re tryna butter me up.” Red rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice. “Flattery won’t get you nowhere with me, slick. It’s dinner an’ a talkie or no dice.”

Swifty made a face. “I like you, but it wouldn’t work between us. We’re simply too different.” He patted Red’s arm sadly. “We can still be friends, _oui_?”

“Get outta the park, ya ass.” Red knocked the fedora off Swifty’s head.

He laughed and dusted the silver-gray hat off before putting it back on. “What about _chérie_ , huh? She could go with you. All you need is someone to make sure the jars don’t break or roll about.”

Red hadn’t considered the possibility, but Swifty had a point. You probably weren’t in a state to do any more shows tonight, not to mention your costume was going to need repairs, so you should make yourself useful some other way. “Sweetcheeks, go inside an’ wash that shit off yer face. I don’t want that makeup stainin’ my baby.”

“But what about him?” You pointed to the drunken asshole that was lying as still and as silent as he could be under Red’s foot.

Red had honestly almost forgotten. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of ‘im while you’re cleanin’ up. Put on somethin’ warm from your room while yer at it.” He pulled his blazer straight. “It’s cold as Jack Frost’s cojones out here.”


	9. Smooth Criminal in a Hot Rod Lincoln

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pappy said, “Son, you’re gonna drive me to drinkin’ if you don’t stop drivin’ that hot rod Lincoln.” - Commander Cody

September was here, that much was clear. The late-night, autumn wind blew hard here in the mountains, but it was warm in the Model A. You were expected to take the bench on this outing, it seemed, although that was perfectly alright with you. Currently, you were huddled up in the back and watching as Red and Swifty speedily loaded up the car. Clay jugs marked with black Xs and sealed with corks were placed at your feet and in your lap. Each jar, of which you’d stopped counting at twenty, held about a gallon of pure shine. “That’s it. I’m gonna dangle.” Swifty said after carefully wedging the final jar inside. “Here’s the address.” He passed him a piece of paper.

“See ya ‘round, Swifty.” Red gave him a firm shake and a tip of his hat before climbing into the driver’s seat. “Hold on tight, sweetcheeks. We’re gonna have t’ goose it.” He loaded the address into his phone and started up the GPS.

“Hold on to what, exactly?” This was a period-loyal vehicle, there were no seatbelts to prevent you from being tossed about. How you were expected to keep the alcohol from doing the same was a mystery.

“The booze, what else? Shit’s worth around two grand, if I counted right.” The engine grumbled away in the background as he slid the birchwood-topped gear shift into neutral, opened and popped the choke, and started the car.

You stared down at the myriad of crockery jugs, unsure if it had been one of your more intelligent decisions to agree to this. Nonetheless, you gripped the jugs with both arms and shut your eyes tight. “Wouldn’t it be safer if you…oh, I dunno… _used your freaking warps?_ ”

“I could, sure.” He pulled the spark lever down, gave it a little gas, and took the time to adjust his mirror. You could see his eye lights shining and the glint of his spearhead teeth reflected in it. “But that wouldn’t be any fun, now would it?”

On the road, the hot rod was a panther amongst house cats. It purred, growled, and roared at the piles of junk that dared obey the speed limit. There wasn’t much room for Red to maneuver, but he got Cherry into some spaces with hair’s breadth between bumpers and fenders. He almost clipped a guardrail due to some asshole who tried to steal his spot in the lane, but pulled back on the road in time to save his ‘baby’s’ paint job.

Every couple of minutes, he’d weave into an opening and double-clutch as he shifted gears, but his expertise didn’t mean that he could protect the moonshine from the cab’s swinging and swaying with the way he was driving. You were constantly grabbing onto jugs as they were slung hither and thither about the backseat. The slosh of the invaluable liquid inside was starting to make your stomach quiver.  “Don’t ya dare puke in Cherry, sweetcheeks. I’ll take the cleanin’ outta yer pay!” Red warned with a glance in the rearview.

“YOU DON’T PAY ME!” You screamed back, clutching the back of the front seat, and one hand shooting out to save a jug as it threatened to roll off the bench to smash into another.

“Whaddya mean I don’t pay ya?!” Red advanced the spark when he finally came to a straight, less-crowded stretch of highway and the engine snarled louder than ever as he brought it up to one hundred and ten with the pedal flat on the floor. “You get a grand an two C’s a week, I –“ He paused as he hung a left on the order of the GPS. “-shit, I fuckin’ forgot t’ pay ya. Sorry, had a lot on my mind.”

“I don’t care about money. I’ve got food and a place to stay…ugh..I don’t want to think about food right now.” You clamped your mouth shut. The acceleration made your bubbling stomach lurch and the back of your throat was burning and thick when you tried to swallow.

“I swear, if ya toss yer cookies, you better do it out the window!” His eye lights flashed in the mirror again, only this time there was a hint of concern. “An’ yer takin’ the three an’ a half grand I owe ya for yer work so far, I may be a fuckin’ redhot, but I ain’t a croo-“

A whooping holler and shrill, mosquito whine interrupted him, and he could see the gumball lights of a cop car as it ghosted into the road from out of nowhere. “Red, it’s the buttons!” You felt all the blood leave your face as you thought what it could be like to spend time in the cooler for all this booze. You’d probably get a three-spot…or maybe worse… “There’s no way we can outrun them.”

“Lemme tell ya a few things ‘bout runnin’, sweetcheeks.” His hand drifted to the window crank and rolled it down. “It ain’t about the speed.” He stuck his hand out the window and let the air current flow through his fingers like he was giving a handshake to the demon of speed himself. “It’s about the skill.” Magic streaked from his fingertips like a comet’s tail beside the car. “An’ I’m the best since Junior Johnson.” The magic enveloped the car in a whipping, waving ghost of flame-colored smoke. You could see his eye lights glowing as bright as twin supernovas in the shadow of his red-banded fedora. His claw-tipped fingers lovingly traced the white leather encasing the steering wheel. “Blast it, baby.”

The hot rod’s speed doubled, as if his magic had somehow found its way to the engine and fueled the rpm to an unthinkable speed. It was the kind of speed that makes your face go numb and sends a thrill up from the base of your spine. What it also did was pitch those damnable jugs around again, and you barely had the sense to catch one before it knocked out your front teeth.

“DAMNIT, RED! I WANT A WARNING NEXT TIME!” You were tossed backward with the force, your head slamming against the soft leather hard enough to make you see spots.

“Cursin’, sweetcheeks?” Red tutted at you, and then smirked wider. “Ya know, I kinda like ya screamin’ my name like that. Let’s kick some gravel, eh, Cherry?” The engine boomed as another surge of speed took you both to triple the speed limit.

You felt like your heart was racing Cherry as nearly hard as the John behind you was going. “Red, he’s still back there.” True, he’d been left a good bit behind, but they made police cars out of the muscle models for a reason. Red was probably one of the many reasons they had to use those ‘police package’ Caddies and Packards.

“Sweetcheeks, I’ma need ya t’ do somethin’ for me.” Red called to you from the front, his eyes focused on the road ahead. “We’re comin’ up on a mountain road curvier than you are. To hang it at this speed, I’ll need yer help or we’ll tip like a cow.”

You popped your head up to the front, both hands clutching the front seat for dear life, and gave him a wobbly, uncertain smile. “What do I have to do?”

“When I give the word, you an’ all them liquor jugs have gotta roll to the left.” He shoved you back down in your seat. “Get back down there, you’re gonna put yer head through the windshield!”

“Only if you stop.” You retorted.

“I ain’t gonna fuckin’ stop!” He snapped over his shoulder and gripped the steering wheel so tight his knucklebones cracked. “Three…two…MOVE IT, SWEETCHEEKS!” He jerked the wheel to the right and entire left side of the car began to lift right off the road. He yanked his hand back through the wind to have more control.

The moonshine collectively rolled and flew to the left with the initial force of the turn, and you felt your body being yanked the same way initially and then it slowly began to pull you back to the right, but you grabbed the seat with one hand and made life-saving nabs at the crockery jugs that would have made a catcher in Wrigley Field proud.

When he came out of the turn, there was another that followed. “I’m pullin’ a left now!” He informed you, and you scrambled to recover from the first in order to follow his command. This continued, right and left, right and left, until you were sure there was no end in sight and you’d died on that first turn –that this was the highway to hell.

Yet, when the road straightened out again and that copper in his black and white Caddie was still trailing, you got the feeling this was a whole different sort of damnation. Red, on the other hand, was impressed. “This bim knows what he’s doin’, I’ll give ‘im that.”

“A-are we going to jail?”

“No, I ain’t never been caught an’ I won’t make this my first time in the hoosegow. That’s one cherry I ain’t interested in poppin’.” Red’s fingers tapped out a rhythm on the wheel as he thought hard for a moment, and then an idea came into his head. “Alright, wiseass, let’s see how hot you drive on rims.” He snapped his fingers and a line of barb-tipped bones flew out the open window to plant themselves in the road.

The snapping hiss of popped tires met your ears and you wished you could see what was happening, but you were half-buried under the moonshine jugs at this point and could barely move. Judging by Red’s triumphant laughter, his trick had worked and now they were as dandy as fair candy. “Ain’t had a good run in a long time. Thanks for the fun, pal!” He called out the window as he sped off into the night.

The delivery was made on time, but the guys he handed the booze over to gave you the willies in the worst way. One of them was wearing iron and not even bothering to hide it, while a few of the others were watching you with interest. “Say, monster.” One of them jerked his head your way. “She yer dame? Ain’t seen her around before.”

“Nah, that’s…uh…” Red scratched the back of his neck. He hadn’t thought to come with a reason for bringing you on the run. He’d been caught up in the chase and it obviously hadn’t occurred to him people might ask questions.

“I’m Swifty’s cousin!” You cut in. “He’s showin’ me the family business, so he gave me his spot for the night. Ain’t that right, Red?” You batted your eyelashes at him, hoping against hope he wouldn’t jeopardize your act.

“Huh, never knew Swifty still had livin’ family. You a Frenchie, too?” The gangster leered at you with a sinister smirk.

“Nope, American born an’ raised, but my aunt married his uncle, divorced him, too, but they had kids and well…here I am!” You tugged at Red’s sleeve. “Red, let’s get back. Swifty said he’d pick me up at the hotel parking lot in half an hour and I don’t wanna keep him waiting.”

He nodded, his eye lights following you as you flounced back to the idling car. You slid in the front seat this time and winced. While he conducted his business, you took off your coat to inspect the damage. You’d always bruised like a banana and after taking such a beating from those heavy jugs rolling and smacking into you, your entire body was aching. Taking off your jacket revealed purple flowers had bloomed under your skin. “What the hell?!” You glanced up to see Red hopping in beside you, sockets as wide as saucers, and frowning at you.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry. I just need an Epsom bath, and if we can pick up some makeup to hide them for tomorrow’s performance, that would be lovely.” You chirped in reply.

“Nah, I got it.” He reached for you with a ball of magic already summoned up. “I’m crap at healing magic, but this should take care of it.” Warmth spread from the surface of your skin and dripped into your veins until it was pulsing through every inch of your body. You squeezed your eyes open and shut a few times since your eyelids now felt like weights were attached to your lashes, and fought the urge to yawn. “Sedative effect…it’ll pass in a few minutes.” Red mumbled as he continued to rub magic into your palm.

“Hm, remind me to call you next time I’m having trouble sleeping.”

Red’s head shot up so fast, he cracked his skull on the top of the car. He hissed in pain, snatched his hands away, and took his place back at the wheel with a barely audible grumble. This time, he elected to drive right through one of his own shortcuts; one moment you were both at the delivery address and then he was pulling into the parking lot behind the hotel. He cut the engine and let his skull fall back against the seat.  “Don’t think I’ve had that much fun in months.”

“Well, it was certainly exciting.” You traced the line of the dash.

“You got bruised all t’ hell, you didn’t have fun.”

“It was worth it to help a friend.” His sockets cracked open and there was a most utterly bewildered expression on his boney features. “Besides, it really was fun. I wonder what that cop’s face looked like when you pulled that trick with the bones?”

He snickered. “Yeah, probably rattled him.” You both shared a short laugh over it and when the laughter slowly ebbed, he was peering at you intensely. “I’ve been thinkin’, when this business with the Don is shut, do ya wanna hang around?”

“Like…something permanent?”

He lifted his fedora and swiped at a few beads of sweat that were forming on his skull. “Yeah, you bring in a lotta business, sweetcheeks. We’re rakin’ in the mazuma like leaves, but if you wanna head out t’ Broadway or somethin’ I’ll type up that recommendation and send it express mail to whoever ya want.”

“No…I…I really like Deadluck. If it’s okay with you, I’d love to stay.” You rested your head against the cool leather. “Not like I have a chance on Broadway, even if you write that letter. The letter would probably end up in the hands of a manager at a fast food place.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He poked you hard. “Ya got talent an’ you’d go places if anyone else had the sense t’ see it.”

“Guess I’m lucky you see it then, huh?” You teased. “Thanks for everything, Red.” You sat up and rolled down your window to squint at the sky. “Wish we could see the stars here. When I was a kid, back on my grandad’s farm, he’d take me out on the lawn and we’d watch the stars. He told me people used to believe  the gods put all the greatest heroes there; Hercules, Perseus…” You pulled your head back in with a sigh. “If I could, I’d put you up there. You’re the greatest friend I’ve ever had.”

“Hmph.” He rubbed hard at his jaw. “I ain’t a hero. How ‘bout you put yerself up there, huh? You want yer name up in lights, don’tchya?”

You grinned. “I feel like I’m already up there, since my zodiac fits me so well. Don’t you know the story behind Cancer? It’s the crab that bit Hercules. She’s kind of an anti-hero, but I feel like the crab was just doing her duty.”

“You go gnawing on people’s toes often?”

You giggled madly. “Only if they deserve it!” You caught your breath back after a few seconds. “But no, I think it’s the idea of it; Hercules killed the crab, but it tried. It did everything it could, it wasn’t enough, but it’ll never be forgotten. She’s up in lights now.”

“Don’t go killin’ yerself t’ have people look at you.” Red told you, his tone serious. “Yer already a star.” The cab was losing heat now that the engine had been dead for a while and the cracked window didn’t help matters. The chill of the night was seeping in, but you couldn’t find it In you to care. Still, you couldn’t stop yourself from shivering. Unbidden, his arm wrapped itself around your shoulders and pulled you closer. “Better?”

“Always.” Your nose was close to touching his nasal ridge. You couldn’t believe how you’d ended up in this situation. Maybe that old pocket watch was as lucky as your pappy thought it was…or maybe you’d made your own luck? “Red, I-“

He was kissing you, teeth tugging at your lips, and your eyes closed. His tongue pressed against your bottom lip and you wondered when he’d had the thought to make that, but your mind went blank soon after. He broke it with a growl and tugged you into his lap before having a go at your neck. “Red-“ His teeth dug into the skin and made you gasp in surprise. “Red, the steering wheel is digging into my back.”

He slid a hand up your leg. “Must be losin’ my touch. You shouldn’t be able t’ be talkin’ right now.”


	10. The Boss and I

Red was avoiding you …actually, that was a strong word for it. He wasn’t ducking out of rooms or hiding whenever you came by, but he’d kept all interactions on an ‘as-needed’ basis since the kissing incident. He was probably embarrassed over allowing the electric heat of the moment to get the best of him. His chill demeanor and stiffness were understandable since you’d come to know him as a monster whose point of pride was self-control.

And yet, the brush-off stung. If he was worried about jeopardizing your friendship, he needn’t overthink it. You were an adult; you could differentiate between romance, friendship, and base attraction. You were friends and nothing more complicated than that. Still, your wandering mind was adept at torturing you with the ponderance of his actions that night.

Did he find you attractive? You didn’t believe he could, for in your own opinion you weren’t exactly a nightingale without some eyeliner, and if he miraculously did it still wouldn’t make a lick of difference. He had money, and people with money could have their pick of the lot when it came to partners. You wouldn’t be likely to rank high on his list of potentials for precisely such a reason.

He’d created you, as surely as you’d created Lady, out of nothing. Your own Pygmalion, he’d sculpted your life from a chunk of ugly, useless granite into a masterpiece enviable by all who paid witness. Unlike the myth, his gaze flitted over you impassively while you were locked into the pose he’d chosen. Gratitude, too, froze your joints like some sort of obligatory tetanus. He couldn’t long for such a plain, trapped creature, you reasoned, not when he was in love with freedom and spirit.

Your cycling thoughts were interrupted by the insistent squeal of a teapot. You wrapped the handle with a dishtowel and poured your tea into a tall mug, added a splash of cream and a few squeezes of honey, and settled back on your bed in your cozy, basement quarters. You puffed delicately at the steam as your eyes traveled appreciatively around the room.

It was a decent size, the space being evenly divided between a kitchen, bedroom, living room, and bathroom, compared to what you were used to. It felt cavernous and empty; the undecorated walls provided only echoes of your own movements for company. It was more stylish than the basic hotel rooms on the upper floors, of course, since this was meant for employees. Not everyone who worked at Deadluck lived there, although many of the core staff did in order to be close at hand in case of emergencies.

Your apartment was barren, for all the space it offered, except for the basic necessities it had come with. Using a fraction of your pay, you’d thought to splurge on a queen and a gorgeous set of bedclothes, but hadn’t been able to figure anything else out from there aside from groceries. It was laughable, really. You had a little under five thousand dollars hidden in your battered suitcase, but whenever you’d decided you were going to spend any of it, something stopped you.

You’d get as far as opening the lid and staring at the scattered, bulging envelopes of cash and then your mind would go as blank as new paper. You didn’t have a bank account to deposit checks, so you’d made a request to Boss to receive all payments as cash, and you weren’t even sure where to begin when it came to putting your money in a bank, anyway. You were raised in a _girls_ ’ home, not exactly an environment that provided schooling on independent living, and were only aware of the absolute basics of finances. Simply put, you were at a complete loss.

Heavy, booming knocks shook your front door, and you waited for the inevitable raspy, broken-glass growl that always accompanied that signature banging. “Payday!” Boss relentlessly pounded away at your locked door until you slid back the deadbolt. You knew enough now to quickly hop back to avoid getting smashed in the face with the door as he marched inside.

“Good afternoon, Boss.” You caught the abused door before it could smash into the stop and gently closed it behind him. “You came in time for tea.”

Boss crossed his arms with narrowed eyes, completely ignoring your polite invitation, and turned to you with a borderline accusatory glare. “You’ve lived here for six weeks, five of which you have spent in this apartment, and yet you don’t have so much as a table on which to toss your wages? This is unacceptable.”

“You could hand them to me, you know…to eliminate the need for any tossing.”

Boss tapped the edge of his finger against his exposed, spike-like teeth. “Be that as it may, you should at least have bought suitable seating in case I do decide to take you up on that offer of tea. While we’re on the topic, what kind of tea are you meekly offering to your generous employer?”

“Peppermint.” You’d long-since accustomed yourself to his odd behavior. Out of the two brothers, he took his role as owner most seriously. He was also a tad full of himself, but it was strangely endearing because his boundless confidence was somewhat refreshing.

“Wise choice. I shall accept your offering.” He remained standing in the middle of the room. “But it’s still terribly rude to offer a drink, yet fail to provide proper seating.”

“You can…uh…sit on my bed, if you want?” You gestured toward your bedroom.

“Hm, unrefined, but it seems I have no other choice. I _refuse_ to sit on the floor. This suit is a Zegna, I’ll have you know.” He frowned distrustfully at your carpet.

“Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to.” You hid a smile behind your hand and went about fixing his tea. “How have you and Red been? I haven’t seen either of you outside of the office much lately.”

“Busy.” His voice was muffled slightly by the half-open door of your bedroom. You heard the springs creak as he sat down.

“So, why isn’t Buster the one handing out the lettuce today?” You weren’t sure how he took his tea, but he probably wouldn’t want his tea as sweet as yours. He was kind of a health-nut.

“He has the flu. I personally quarantined him in his room and have taken his position over for the day to prevent the spreading of germs.” Boss took the mug from your hands, sniffed it critically, and then took a sip. It must have been up to his standards because you heard not a single snort of complaint.

“That’s so sweet of you!”

He choked on his sip of tea and coughed hard. “It is practical. Now, take it.” He shut his jaw so tight it might as well have been a bear trap and threw a stuffed envelope into your lap.

“Thanks, Boss!” You sat your cup on the floor for a moment. You had your hand on your suitcase when it was suddenly yoinked out from under your hand.

“ _Please_ , don’t tell me this is where you’ve been keeping-“ He opened the buckles, making a noise like a displeased cat. “By Polaris, what made you believe stashing money in a suitcase was a good idea?!” He threw it on the bed as if it had burned him. “Get your coat, we’re going to the bank right this second!”

“What?” You stood there, perplexed, as he began organizing the stacks of cash and pulled a manila envelope from somewhere on his person to keep it all orderly.

“We’re going to the bank.” He replied, slowing down his words to a crawl.

“I mean, _why_ are we going to the bank, smartypants?” You riposted. “I can’t afford a bank account. Those are for rich people like you.”

He furrowed his browbone at you, looked at the packed manilla envelope, and then pinched his nasal ridge in frustration. “The intelligence of my pants aside, do you know how a bank works?”

“Um…they charge you to put the money in a little box?”

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “That’s a safety deposit, _not a bank account_. How are you unaware of these things?”

You clasped your hands together tightly. “I…I dunno...for the two years I taught at the orphanage, we were paid in clothing, room, board, and a weekly allowance in cash. I saved every cent, bought a bus pass, and came here with everything I had to my name. And when I was a student there, they never taught us anything about that kind of stuff.” You shrugged at his scandalized expression. “It was a girls’ home. They taught us how to darn socks, cook, clean, take care of young children, and the basics of reading, writing, arithmetic, and history.”

“Young lady or not, it doesn’t excuse not explaining proper money management.” His words were cold, but then he cocked his head like a confused parakeet and frowned. “How bad off _were_ you in that sorry excuse of an institution?”

You smiled bitterly. “We had food and beds.”

His frown deepened. “I see.” From within his blazer, he drew out a rectangular booklet and took a seat on the bed. “This is a checkbook.” He flipped it opened and pointed to the bottom of the first slip of paper. “This is the routing number, next we have the account number, and finally the number of the check itself. When writing checks, it is always best to go in order to keep better track of which ones have processed and posted through your bank account.” He slid his finger up to the first blank line. “This is where you will write out the amount owed-“ He moved to the box beside the line. “-this is where the numerical value of that amount is filled in. When checks are processed, the numerical value is what they will go by because _some_ people have atrocious handwriting.” He sniffed haughtily, and you thought you saw his mouth twitch up at the corner when you laughed. “The line above is where the recipient’s name should be filled in. On the right, we have the date. When one writes out a check, you may choose to post-date it. Post-dating is the practice of purposeful payment delay, which a merchant is _not_ obligated to honor as the check itself is a promise of payment regardless of date.” He tapped the booklet’s left-hand corner. “The address will always be on the top left, the number of the check is repeated in the top right, and between them will always be the name of the issuing bank. The bottom two lines are self-explanatory; they are for memos to help you recall the reason you wrote the check and for your signature authorizing the check. If you make a mistake on a check, you should write void across the front and back in pen and securely dispose of it after making a note in your register.” He flipped the check over and turned the booklet for you to see. “When receiving a check, you must endorse the back with your signature before attempting to deposit it. If your account is co-owned, most banks will allow a co-owner to deposit a check written out to the other owner, but some may require both co-owners to endorse it or even for the recipient to be the one who deposits. It can vary between banks or be judged at the teller’s discretion for such things.”

From there, he went on to explain check registers, the differences between a checking account and a savings account, how checks were processed, and the various methods of debiting or crediting an account. “I believe you’re sufficiently educated to open an account now.” He finished the last swallow of tea, and took both mugs to the sink. “Get your coat and I will escort you promptly to the bank.”

“Boss,” He didn’t look up from washing the cups, but you could tell he was listening. “I appreciate it, but you don’t have to-“

“As your employer, I must complete my due diligence.” He replied curtly. “I’d rather not spend my invaluable time educating my employees, but if they are poorly informed it is my duty to correct that.” He wiped his hands on a cloth. “Forgive the phrasing, but as my brother would say…your orphanage’s curriculum was complete bullshit.”

That was how you ended for the next three hours in Ebott City Trust pouring over the terms and conditions of opening an account, receiving your first debit card, and christening the account with a hefty deposit. Upon leaving the bank, Boss insisted on dragging you to a furniture store and bought you a couch with his own money. He called it an advance, and said he would deduct the debt from your next pay period, but you had a sneaking suspicion he’d ‘forget’ to do that.

The impromptu trip had forced you to stay up far past your typical bedtime. Typically, you slept during the day because the casino’s hours were 7:00 pm to 3:00 am. Therefore, you were quite exhausted by the time the business with the bank was over with and shopping was completed. You were ready to fall into bed, and yet you didn’t want it to end. You hadn’t spent much time alone with Boss before now, and without Red’s visits, you’d grown lonely.

Boss hung around for a while, in spite of his earlier remarks on how busy he was, and you quickly learned he wasn’t afraid of being snoopy. He’d been in your apartment for a grand total of an hour after bringing you back, and he’d already gone through most of your things with the sole exception being your underwear drawer. Right now, you were entertained by his insistence on going through the mountain of library books you’d checked out while he was closing the deal on your new couch. “It would have been much wiser to stay and observe my shrewd hunt for a deal than going next door for these silly fantasy stories.” He remarked as he turned over a copy of Treasure Island with a vaguely puzzled look at the title. He squinted at it, turned it left, right, upside down, and then brought it as close as he could to his skull. “Surla…isan…T-tre…This font is ridiculous!” He tossed it over his shoulder in frustration.

“You’ve said that about the previous five.” You observed, and picked the book up. The title’s font wasn’t all that confusing, truly. It had a few calligraphy-style curves, but it was quite legible.

He snatched another from the stack and rifled through the pages, his face the picture of concentration, and you could feel his irritation radiating all the way across the room. “GAH! WHY ARE ALL OF THESE WRITTEN LIKE THEY WERE MADE FOR A CAPTCHA PROMPT?! This is why I despise fantasy. Puzzle books are MUCH more straightforward.”

“Boss?” You reached for the book in his hand and examined it. It was fairly plain, the title was done in capitals, but it was slanted across the front of the book in an artistic fashion. “Pardon me for asking, but…do you have dyslexia?”

His shoulders immediately tensed. “I’M NOT STUPID!”

“I didn’t say you were.” You eased the book out of his hands and set it aside. “You taught me all the banking stuff, it’s only fair if I do something for you, too.” You went around the room to pick up all of the discarded library books. “I’ll tell you what. If you come down here before or after work a few nights a week, I’ll sit up for a little while and we can read these together. Sound good?”

He sprang to his feet, snatched up Treasure Island and shoved it under your nose. “We’re going to read this one first.”

“Alright, we can do that, but this is a long one and I should get to bed soon. Is it okay if we do the first chapter and then save the rest for another time?” You put the books back in the cloth bag from the library. Once that was finished, you patted the space beside you. “Okay, so you’re gonna love this one. It’s all about pirates, buried treasure, and has lots of action.” You pointed to the title with your finger. “I know there are some crazy loops going on with this font, but that’s calligraphy for you! You started out great before, it’s called ‘Treasure…Island’.” You made sure to go slowly and watched his eye lights as they followed your finger over the cover. “It’s by ‘Robert…Louis…Stevenson.”


	11. Shall We Dance?

Red was enjoying a nap in his office chair when the door slammed open. He awoke with a sleepy snort in time to see his brother jerking open his black divider. “What-“ Boss grabbed him by the front of his shirt and heaved him up with a ferocious snarl. “Hey, what the fuck?! What the hell did I do, huh?!” Red grunted in surprise.

“I SWEAR ON MY SOUL, IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO THAT GIRL BECAUSE OF YOUR SELFISHNESS, I WILL DUST YOU MYSELF!” Boss shook him hard as he screamed in his face.

“Whoa, whoa, I ain’t gonna let anythin’ happen t’ the chick, alright?” Red glowered up at Boss and shook himself out of his grip. “As long as she sticks t’ the plan, she ain’t gonna get hurt an’ we’ll all walk free.” He smoothed out the rumples on his vest and shirtsleeves. “An’ whaddya mean I’m bein’ fuckin’ selfish? I’m doin’ this for both of us, ya ungrateful brat! I’m the one who put the fuckin’ food in yer big gob when we started out, don’tchya fuckin’ _dare_ accuse me of bein’ selfish!”

Boss’s fists clenched at his sides. “Sans, I’m going to count to three, and if you don’t go down to speak with that young lady I’m going to…I’m…” He seemed to be so enraged as to have difficulty getting his thoughts together. “I’M GOING TO DO SOMETHING VERY MOTHERFUCKING DRASTIC!”

“Screamin’ yer head off at me ain’t drastic?” Sans plopped back into his desk chair and reclined back. “I been talkin’ t’ her, too. Hell, I talked to ‘er this mornin’ ‘bout a new performance she wants t’ run past us. Said she’s gonna need a dancin’ partner, but ya know I don’t fuckin’ dance.”

“That’s an excuse, and you know it!” Boss stuck his finger in Red’s face. “Sans, I don’t know what is going on between you and her, frankly I don’t want to know, but avoiding her is not the way to resolve the issue!” He held up three fingers. “Three….”

“Boss, damn it, I-“

“Two…”

“Yer a real piece of fuckin’ work, ya know tha-“

“ONE! THAT’S IT, I’M GOING TO DO SOMETHING AND YOU AREN’T GOING TO LIKE IT!” Boss drew back and slammed the divider closed so hard it popped out of its runner and then clattered to the ground.

“What the fuck is his problem?” Red mumbled to himself once Boss had left the office. As far as he knew, Boss had no idea about the… _incident_ …in Cherry or why he’d been doing his damnedest to give you the runaround until he could figure his shit out. He couldn’t get that night out of his head and it was driving him up the fucking wall. He wasn’t supposed to get invested in you. If he caught feelings, that would put the both of you in more danger than was inherent to the job.

 If people thought you and him were a thing, the word might get around to Skintag and the entire plan would be blown out of the sky after barely getting off the ground. The Don wasn’t stupid; if he thought the two of you had something deeper than a surface connection, he’d watch you as closely as he did Red and that would ruin everything. Your entire purpose in the plan was to bring the Don’s guard down. If he was suspicious, and then he caught you making the move to do him in, you could end up hurt or killed. Red wasn’t willing to risk that. Hell, he hadn’t been willing to risk anyone’s life except his own in the first place, but things were a bit different now.

 Now, he was wondering if he should cut you out of the plan altogether and find another way, but no…no, there wasn’t any other way. He’d already gotten this far, he couldn’t abandon everything. Maybe, when all this blew over he’d be free to make a move, but now? His hands were tied.

Granted, it was killing him. He carried that fucking handkerchief around with him wherever he went now. Seeing you walking around in that slinky, red outfit all the time was bad enough, and now he’d started noticing how some of your audience openly ogled, too. It made him feel the need to stake a claim, maybe bend you over one of the poker tables in front of a full house and put on a _real_ show, but that wasn’t an option.

So, he’d procrastinated and now he didn’t know what was up or down. Boss didn’t make threats without following through; it was something he’d ingrained in his brother while he was raising him to survive the hell that was the Underground. Whatever Boss had in mind, it was bound to be aimed only _barely_ above the belt.

Three days after the fact, that conversation was coming back to haunt Red like a drunk food run to Taco Bell. There was a sour taste in his mouth and a burning in his chest while he was forced to watch you and Boss rehearse the part you’d originally asked him to play. “It’s simple, really. It’s just one, two, three, and…one, two, three-“ You were apparently trying to teach Boss a dance from some play or another and it irked Red how easily his brother was moving along with you. “Oh, you’re doing great, Boss!”

“Splendid, splendid.” He moved with you along the empty, casino floor. “Wait, wait, stop!” He paused. “Ah, I forgot the ‘and’. Resume! One, two, three, and…one, two three-“ He led you, spinning and galloping about like a couple of mad horses, between slot machines, poker tables, and the roulette bases.

It was disgusting. Boss was laying on the honey and you were falling for all of it. Red’s grip on his glass of rum and coke tightened until the thick glass shattered. You flinched at the sound and glanced up to see him watching. “Red!” Your face was bright pink from exertion and his gaze immediately locked on to your heaving chest. “Hi! How long have you been watching? I hope you don’t mind, but Boss volunteered to take your place. He’s actually quite good, you know.”

“Of course I am, I have the grace of a jungle cat.” Boss smirked up at Red with his white-gloved hands clasped tightly behind his back. He offered his hand again to you. “Speaking of which, I don’t believe we’ve been doing this entirely correctly.”

“Yes, we have.” You insisted. “That’s exactly how it’s done-“

“No,” Boss’s eye lights flicked up to meet Red’s. “According to the research I was doing yesterday, I believe it is supposed to be done…” He placed his other hand at your waist and tugged you closer. “… _this way_.”

A blush lit up your face. “Oh…um…well, yes, that is…um…yes, that’s right, but I figured we should get the footwork down first.”

Red could feel his jaw aching now; he’d been clenching his teeth this entire time. After you were gone, he had half a mind to take his brother out back for a dancing lesson of his own. “What the hell is this shit, anyway?” He warped down to the casino floor, brushing glass from his suit into the void, and put his hands between the two of you. “People don’t wanna watch a fuckin’ _waltz_.”

“Oh, I don’t know, brother.” Boss gave him the most self-satisfied, infuriating, smug little smile he’d ever seen. “I believe it would work very well for Valentine’s Day, don’t you?” Red didn’t miss the way his brother’s fingers drummed lightly down your side or the way your breathing hitched a little in your throat.

Red forced himself between you and Boss and stabbed his finger into his brother’s sternum. “Valentine’s Day is five fuckin’ months away! How about we do something actually entertainin’…like…I dunno…a fuckin’ mambo or some shit. People don’t want sappy shit. They want lights, they want fast-paced music, an’ they want sex appeal!”

“Mambo?” You interjected. “Oh, I’ve always wanted to do that! Boss, I’m sorry, Red _is_ right. Valentine’s is a long ways off, but we can always pick this back up in January.” You touched his arm with a winning smile. “Thanks for the idea, Red! I know an absolutely perfect piece for Boss and me to-“

“Boss, ain’t ya got a buncha fuckin’ paperwork upstairs?” Red hissed through his teeth.

Boss pretended to think for a moment. “Not that I recall, Sans.” He stroked the small of your back. “I took extra care to get everything done so that I could give my full attention to our lovely, leading lady and her marvelous lessons.”

“Pretty sure I saw a stack on yer desk a mile high before I came down.” Red was ready to rip off a few heads now, and he _knew_ Boss was loving it. “Eh, sweetcheeks, Boss is too soft-hearted, so he didn’t mention it, but he’s got a lot on his plate right now. I’ve got a bit o’ time, though, if ya want, before Swifty comes around with another job.”

You frowned up at Boss. “I don’t want you to have to go out of your way for me. If you have more important work, I can figure something else out.” You glanced over at Red, appearing befuddled. “I thought you said you didn’t like to dance?”

“Psh,” Red slipped his arm around your shoulders, subtly knocking Boss’s hand away in the process, and pulled you tight to his side. “For _you_ , sweetcheeks,  I can make a small sacrifice. Now talk to me, what’s this bit you got in mind?” He steered you in the direction of the lounge, but not before smoothly flipping his brother the bird behind your back.


	12. Marienwürmchen

With pursed lips, you glared down at the dress in your hands. _Oh, well, this is just peachy!_ You weren’t amused by the finicky sequins on this costume at all. If you had your way about it, Lady would be wearing something less bothersome and scratchy…like silk with tinsel threads. Yes, silk with gold tinsel threading would be eye-catching _and_ convenient, but that hadn’t been up to you. Maybe if you spoke with Red about it, perhaps even after obtaining a few test scraps of fabric to show him, he’d agree to let you change it up. It wasn’t that you didn’t like this dress, but the sequins had a bad habit of getting twisted and then you’d spend an hour or so fixing it.

The shoes didn’t present an issue, since those sequins had been secured with glue, but it was just this flipping dress that was the problem. After some careless patron had spilled their drink on you, you were forced to hand-wash it and that had caused a handful of the sequins to get turned around. Until you had a chance to bring it up, you’d have to deal with the mess presented to you.

Tediously, you used your fingernail to lift and re-position each twisted sequin, rolled it up in a towel to press out the excess moisture, and then hung it up to dry on a rack in front of your new bedroom fan. The rack and the fan were both new additions to your apartment; they were bought for the convenience of doing things just like this. Your costume required delicate care and attention if one expected it to hold up for any decent amount of time.

Having completed that arduous chore, you checked your pocket watch. Boss was usually here by this time for his bedtime chapter of Treasure Island; however, he did sometimes ask you to do it a few hours before the casino opened around four or five in the afternoon. Those were anomalies as he’d mentioned in a passing how the reading had positively impacted his sleeping habits. It was no small wonder, either, considering how tightly wound he happened to be at any given hour of the night. It had done a miracle for his stress level, and you were happy to see him be more relaxed and well-rested.

“Are you decent?!”

You snapped the pocket watch closed and glanced at the bathroom door. “Boss?” You crossed the tile floor to check and, sure enough, he was standing only a foot from the bathroom door. His foot was tapping quickly as if he’d been waiting for some time. “How-“

“Master keyring. Sans has one as well, but he's always losing it, so he doesn't bother.” Boss jangled a massive ring of color-coded keys and then pushed them back into the depths of his pocket. “Today, we are reading chapter 25, if you recall.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” You picked the worn book off the top of your modest bookshelf and flipped through to the correct page. “Bed or couch?”

“Hm, I feel like reclining this morning.” He breezed on by, leading the way to your bedroom, and sat down to untie his dress shoes. That done, he removed his blazer and carefully hung it on the hanger you kept on the door of your closet. The hanger was there for solely this purpose; he was incredibly particular about wrinkling his suits. “Your rehearsals with my brother seem to be surprisingly productive, although I will never comprehend how you’ve managed to train those two left feet of his. You’ve worked a miracle.”

“Oh, you saw some of our rehearsal, then?” You beamed and stepped out of your fuzzy slippers at the end of the bed. “Yes, he’s made a lot of progress with singing on key, too. I’m excited about the show tomorrow! He’s going to be great, I know it.”

He crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back. “I applaud your patience. Commence with chapter 25, if you please.” His sockets closed after the first few paragraphs, and his breathing deepened. At first, you thought he might have fallen asleep. When you glanced up from the page to check, he cracked open his scarred socket with a hint of annoyance. “Why did you stop? I didn’t command you to stop. Go on!”

“Sorry,” You weren’t about to tell him you thought you’d caught him dozing; that would raise his hackles and the entire point of this was to get him to relax. So, you faked a yawn. “Tonight took a lot out of me, I suppose.”

“Well, lay down then. You’re in a bed, for fuck’s sake.” He threw back the covers on your side. “Problem solved. Must I do everything?”

You wiggled under the duvet with a smile. Typically, the two of you would sit on the couch or he would do as he’d done today and choose to lie down, but he’d never invited you to lay down with him before. You took it as a sign he was finally becoming more comfortable around you. Hopefully, Boss was beginning to consider you a friend as much as Red did.

You read slowly, and took care to do the accents as he’d requested on the first night. Slowly, the tension leaked out like a deflating balloon. He’d occasionally turn his head to watch you out of slitted sockets or reach over to tip the book more toward him if he caught sight of an accompanying illustration. When the chapter finally drew to a close, he sat up and stretched with a barely audible sigh. “For your services, I have decided to compensate you. I intended to give this to you earlier, but I was rather overeager to hear the next chapter.” From one pocket, he pulled out a tiny box and thrust it at you like he was trying to impale you on it.

“Boss, you didn’t need to!” You hugged him tight, and his immediate reaction was to stiffen up. After a second or two, however, he awkwardly patted your head and a rusty-colored blush of magic settled over his cheekbones. “I hope you didn’t spend much. I don’t need anything expensive.”

He pulled his blazer back on and fastened the laces on his shoes with tight, tidy knots “I spent exactly what I believed your time was worth.” You removed the box’s lid, fumbled and nearly dropped the entire thing because the contents knocked you for six. “That pocket watch of yours doesn’t have a proper chain, so I took it upon myself to provide you with one.” In the cotton batting, a golden chain was nestled. The links were sturdy, and the small fob charm was enameled with a Marion beetle matching the one on the watch itself. “The fob had to be custom-made; otherwise, you would have received it sooner. Ladybugs are a frustratingly rare motif and I spent a great deal of time trying to find a jeweler who could get it right. I’m sure you’re incredibly grateful, no need to thank me.”

Tears like bubbling lava scalded your eyes, the muscles of your throat were paralyzed, and pressure built up in your chest as you felt the urge to explode into hysterics. Instead, you sniffled and scrubbed the corners of your eyes before launching yourself up to grab him by his cervical vertebrae and plant a watery kiss on the crest of his left cheekbone. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and flinched back. His blush grew until his entire face was glowing like a lightbulb, but it quickly disappeared as he composed himself. In the gravest and solemn tone you’d ever heard, he spoke. “If you leave now, I shall make sure Sans cannot find you.”

“I can’t do that.” You replaced the lid and set it aside. “You two are my friends and you need my help. I don’t care how dangerous it is, or how long it takes, I’m going to see this through. Red explained the plan to me ages ago…I know what I’m getting into.” You put a hand on his shoulder. “When the Don is dead, and Asgore takes his place according to Red’s deal, everything will be okay. You’ll have Deadluck and your freedom; what else could you want?”

The silence dragged on for several long minutes while he stared you down, but you held your ground. He turned away, arms crossed, and you thought for sure he was going to leave. Instead, his entire body started to shake, bones rattling and clattering in such a racket you’d never heard, before he smashed his fist into the doorframe. “IT ISN’T SAFE FOR YOU HERE! DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT?!”

“Boss, it’s-“

“IT IS _NOT_ OKAY!” Magic snapped along his body and jumped in sporadic, orange bursts as he went for the front door. “So fucking help me Polaris, we’re not going along with Sans’s asinine plot! I AM THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS, AND I WILL FIND A WAY IF IT FUCKING _KILLS_ ME!” He slammed your door behind him with a mighty crash that resounded through the entire basement.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick question: Who wants to, in some form or fashion, see a bit of Boss x Reader in this story?  
> I'm curious because I'm on the fence about it and it might help me decide one way or the other.


	13. Your Mambo Man

Buster was barely holding back the crowd at the door, an unlit cigarette clamped in his forced grin, as he explained over and over that the casino would open for business in _just a few more minutes if they would be patient_. The crazed, customer service expression frozen on his features made you shudder in sympathy whenever you glanced through the small windows on the double doors. “Places, everyone!” You called with a hand cupped around your mouth. “It’s the five-minute mark!”

Undyne sped along hoisting eight bunny servers onto the line of poker, blackjack, and baccarat tables one by one. Alphys watched, frowning, and stuck her tongue out at a few of them before heading up to her lighting and sound control board. Meanwhile, the band above was making a few last minute adjustments to their instruments and testing their microphones. Across from the band, Boss had poked his head out of the office and was now shouting at Red to fix his tie.

“Got that smokescreen ready?” Red straightened the diamond knot at his throat and adjusted the golden clip for good measure to shut his brother up.

“Yep! Remember-“ You leaned heavily on your cane. “-it’s all about flow. Don’t stop for anything or you’ll trip yourself up. If something goes wrong, I’m sure you can improvise.”

“Lady, I can tell ya right now I’m great at _thinkin’ on mah feet_ , heheh.” He rocked back on his heels in a move you’d shown him and grabbed the microphone stand with one, leather-gloved hand. “Off with ya, we open in two.”

“LIGHTS ARE OFF IN THREE…” Alphys counted down from above. “TWO…ONE!”

The overheads shut down with a series of heavy clicks until the casino was pitch-black. From your hiding spot, you heard Red chuckle at the answering roar of the customers outside. “Showtime.”

The doors smashed into the stops as customers half-trampled each other to get inside. Mystified shouts filled the air, but when nothing met their questing eyes except inky blackness, the rumble of voices gradually died to suspenseful silence. The peace was uneasy, every breath was held, and no one appeared to trust the dead house.

“ **Ladies and gentlemen-** “ Like a bullet, a spotlight pierced the darkness. Red smirked as he jerked the cordless microphone off the stand. “ **This is Mambo Number 5**.” Electrified trumpet beats pulsed like the beat of a mechanized heart. Scarlet lights flashed into existence, spinning in circles like thousands of moving red eyes, as the pace picked up. “ **One, two, three, four, five! Everybody in the car, so come on let’s ride to the liquor store around the corner.** ” He jerked his head and shoulders to the beat, a finger sliding along the brim of his hat. “ **The boys say they want some gin and juice, but I really don’t wanna beer bust like I had last week. I must stay deep ‘cause talk is cheap.** ” His feet crossed, twisted, and he did a turn that took him to the aisle between the tables.

Shifting, four-pillar lights engaged the bunny servers in all their golden tassels and glitter-dusted fur as he held his hands out to them. “ **I like Angela, Pamela, Sandra, and Rita, and as I continue, you know they getting sweeter.** ” The bunnies high-stepped, their stiletto heels clacking on the green felt liner of the tables, while he stopped to kiss each hand before moving on like a bee buzzing from flower to flower. “ **So what can I do? I really beg you, my Lord. To me flirting is just like a sport, anything fly! It’s all good, let me dump it, please set it in the trumpet!** ” He rolled his hands down the hips, not quite touching, of the server to his left. “ **A little bit of Monica in my life,** ” Red snatched his hands back just as she went to touch his shoulders, and moved on to the next table to trail a finger up the leg of another. “ **A little bit of Erica by my side,** ” He dodged to the right when she leaned down for a kiss, and grabbed the hand of the next to kiss with a devilish grin. “ **A little bit of Rita is all I need,** ” With a slide, he avoided her attempt to caress his face, and had his way with each woman all the way down the line. “ **A little bit of Tina is what I see, a little bit of Sandra in the sun, a little bit of Mary all night long,** **a little bit of Jessica, here I am,** ” He allowed a capsule to fly out of his cuff. It hit the floor and exploded right on cue, and Lady put a leg through the smoke on the timed approach. She clamped a hand down on his shoulder and spun him around, and the audience went rabid as the pair of you clasped hands. “ **A little bit of you makes me your man.** ”

“ **Mambo number five!** ” The servers touch-stepped, shimmied in place, and sang with their heads tilted toward the heavens.

He led, his feet moving forward as hers teased backward, until he backed off and then she swooped in like a bird of prey. “ **Jump up and down and move it all around. Shake your head to the sound, put your hand on the ground.** ” Her hips jived, making the fringes on her costume jump, and all the while the tuba and trumpet brawled for supremacy. “ **Take one step left, one to the front, and one to the side. Clap your hands once, and clap your hands twice-** ” He pushed her out, and she twirled under his arm, before he pulled her into a dip as sharp as a tack. “ **-and if it looks like this, then you doing it right.** ” She broke a capsule with the sharp edge of her nail and felt the momentary flash of heat as a warp opened up in the floor below, but right as you both let go, she reached up and stole the fedora right off his head.

He snapped upright, and spun on his heel as his eyes searched the casino floor for her. He knew where she was, but his character didn’t and he was playing it marvelously. In a shake that started in his pelvis and ended in with a jerk of his chin, he composed himself with a quick slick of his tongue over the edges of his deadly grin and returned to the line of fawning servers. “ **A little bit of Monica in my life, a little bit of Erica by my side, a little bit of Rita is all I need,** ” This time, he wasn’t so sure and his lecherous smile had lost its edge as he played the women like hand of cards. “ **A little bit of Tina is what I see, a little bit of Sandra in the sun, a little bit of Mary all night long, a little bit of Jessica, here I am-** “ In a puff of magic, Lady stepped from out of the void once more and jerked him away from them by his satin tie. One hand zoned in on her waist, and he was suddenly alive again. “ **A little bit of you makes me your man!** ”

Lady’s leg popped up to his hip and he let her tip back for half a moment, and then she was yanked upright once more. Her feet barely grazed the floor, sliding with the belch of the tuba and twitching with the competing screech of the trumpet. It felt like skating across the ice on a winter morning; slick, dangerous, and altogether a thrill of the highest caliber.

“ **Trumpet, the trumpet! Mambo number five!** ” The bunnies made fruitless swipes from their table perches to try to steal him back, but you both were quick to flit away. Lady shivered in front of him so close that her bottom brushed his groin as she bent her knees. With both arms, he did his best to grab her from behind, but she ground a capsule the point of her shoe to fall through a warp and he came away with only a handful of smoke to show for it.

Now visibly annoyed, he wore a scowl. As a point of spite, he pulled bunnies down for a dancing line. “ **A little bit of Monica in my life, a little bit of Erica by my side, a little bit of Rita is all I need,** ” He was barely interested as the bunnies ran their paws reverently down his suit and high-kicked on either side of him in a cabaret line. “ **A little bit of Tina is what I see, a little bit of Sandra in the sun, a little bit of Mary all night long, a little bit of Jessica, here I am-** “ When she re-appeared, his hat pulled low over her sultry smile, he pushed the two beside him back and snapped his fingers. “ **A little bit of you makes me your man!** ”  Tendrils of magic jerked her into his arms, and he gave her a cocky smirk; Lady wouldn’t getting away this time. “ **I do all to fall in love with a girl like you, ‘cause you can’t run and you can’t hide.** ” With a wink, he stole his hat back and motioned out toward the expanse of the vast casino. “ **You and me gonna touch the sky!** ” On the crest of the music, he slammed down the final smoke screen and warped you both back to the side room.

Completely out of breath by this point, you braced yourself against him. “You did great,”  You smacked him in the ribs gently. “Mr. _I can’t dance_.” You blew a lock of hair out of your face.

“I can’t, but yer one helluva teacher.” He straightened his fedora. “Why’d ya take my fuckin’ hat, though?”

“The majesty of acting is sometimes about doing what feels right at the moment.” You proclaimed, and then giggled. “Plus, the look on your face was priceless!”

“Heh, you cheeky little-“

“So, this is who you’ve chosen.” A voice, one as dark and resonating as a strike on a gong in a century-old mausoleum, cut in. You weren’t sure how you’d missed him, but a monster stood waiting in the office. His protruding horns scraped the ceiling tiles he was so tall, and his choice of attire was a woolen, double-breasted suit. Bold and regal violet vertical stripes gave the illusion of elongating his already massive figure, and two eyes the color of goofer dust peered down at you in the same way one might inspect a bacterium through a microscope. “Asgore Dreemurr, at your service.” He inclined his head, causing the tips of his horns to leave two gouges in the tile.

“Hey, now, you said you weren’t gonna come ‘round here ‘til the job was done.” Red’s sockets narrowed with suspicion.

“I changed my mind.” Asgore stroked his goatee ponderously. “I’ve decided I should speak to the girl myself. Don’t concern yourself, Sans, I wasn’t followed. Now, I’d like a word alone with the lady of the hour, if you please.”

Red put an arm out in front of you protectively. “Whatever ya got t’ say, you can say it in front o’ me.”

The cock of a revolver made your heart stutter as frozen iron was suddenly forced against your forehead. “Leave, Sans, or this is her curtain call.”

Sweat dotted Red’s skull as he seemed to wrestle with himself, his eye lights moving from the gun in your face to Asgore’s unmoved expression, and bared his teeth in a rabid snarl. “Watch yerself, ‘Gore. I’m not a guy ya wanna fuck with.”

“Perhaps not,” Asgore shrugged. “But, for all your speed, could you stop this bullet before it paints her pretty face all over the wall? You’re a gambling man, would you like to take _that_ chance?”

Red hesitated, as if the thought to take up the offer crossed his mind, before he lowered his arm and stepped back. “You hurt ‘er an’ the deal’s off.” He spat venomously before leaving you at Asgore’s mercy.

Your lungs were as useless as chunks of ice in your chest, and you kept your eyes on the revolver even as it was returned to the confines of Asgore’s suit. “W-what do…why did you…what did you need to say to me?” You stammered, wishing you could call up Lady’s grace and form outside the stage to project some aura of strength.

“Hm,” Asgore raised an eyebrow at you. “If I hadn’t seen your show tonight, I wouldn’t have believed you were capable of completing the job. Dissatisfied with your own skin, and lost in a world of daydreams…tch, _actors_ …still, you’ll do.” He crossed his arms, each one as thick and heavy as a beam of solid concrete. “And yet, I do wonder how an orphaned, farm girl made it all the way to the Big Onion.” He smirked at you. “Oh, yes, I know _exactly_ what you are. I don’t put my eggs in a stranger’s basket, child. So, tell me, do _they_ know who you are? Have you told them your _großvater’s_ stories of the war…have you told them which side he was on?” He leaned down to murmur in your ear. “Are you afraid to acknowledge the sins crawling on your back?”

“ _Schieße_ …” You hissed, and without meaning to your hand came up to strike him solidly across his smug face. “My grandfather made many mistakes -many _awful_ mistakes-, but that was in a time and place where if you didn’t at least appear to support the War, you were as much an enemy as any other!” You took advantage of his surprise to move beyond his reach. “If you know so much about me, you’ll know precisely why he fled to America, too.”

Asgore touched his cheek. “You do have some spirit, after all. It simply takes some prodding…good to know.” He made an amused huff. “And yes, I’m very much aware of your grandfather’s great escape. I know he married one of the people he saved, too.”

“Luck runs in the family.” Your hand went to your right breast where you could feel the weight of your pocket watch. “ _Wir haben Schwein gehabt,_ as my grandfather used to say.”

Asgore rolled his eyes. “My dear, delusional child, there’s no such thing.” He dug in his pocket and drew out a set of solid gold dice. As he spoke, he turned them over and over again in his hand. “There is life, there is death...there are facts, numbers, and probability, but there is no fate or luck. The odds can be manipulated as easily as you can count cards, weight a pair of dice, or throw a horse race.”

“Is there a reason you wanted to speak to me alone, other than to mock and scare me?” You took a fearful step back. “I’m your meal ticket, _you_ should be respecting _me_.” You tried to keep the squeak out of your voice, to make yourself powerful and confident like Lady would be, but to no avail.

“I’m merely checking in on my investment.” He calmly informed you, seemingly unaffected by your hostility. “As I said, I don’t trust my eggs with a stranger. Business investments aren’t made by throwing darts at a board and hoping for the best; I needed to know if you were the correct choice.”

“Am I?” You challenged him bravely.

“If I didn’t believe you were-” Magic charged his fur, causing it to spike up and out, as a massive war trident materialized in his hands. “-I’d have killed you the moment that idiot left the room.” He swung it back and tapped the hilt on the floor absent-mindedly. “I used to believe he was fearless, you see, but…” He slid the point of the weapon under your chin. “I’ve found he’s recently developed a soft spot...a chink in that thick armor…a weakness that could cost me my eggs.” He pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Do him a favor; don’t be the reason I lose my eggs…or I will make a bone-meal omelette instead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao, Grammarly kept trying to be like "'Asgore' isn't a word...maybe you meant Al Gore?", which just makes this entire chapter much more hilarious if you imagine Al Gore in Asgore's place. XD
> 
> Also, thank you all for your lovely feedback! You shall know the results of my decision...eventually! Muahahaahaha!


	14. Before You Break My Heart

“Red…” The hands patting at your body didn’t stop. He lifted your arms, inspected your neck, pushed back your hair to check your shoulders, and still didn’t seem to be satisfied. “Red, I’m fine.”

“I’m lookin’ for a reason t’ toast that asshole. _Any reason_.” He growled as his inspection failed to yield any marks of mishandling. “I swear I didn’t know he’d fuckin’ pull a gun on you, sweetcheeks. He must be gettin’ nervous.”

“He didn’t seem very nervous.” You had difficulty swallowing as the residual terror washed over you again. “I…I don’t think I’m going to sleep very well today.” Every time you closed your eyes, you could see light glinting off that tar-black barrel. You coughed in an attempt to clear out the lump from your throat, but…”Red, I’m not sure I can do this.”

“Yer backin’ out?”

“No, of course not! I mean... I don’t think I can go to sleep.” You glanced at the clock and noted the casino had only been open for two hours. “When its closing time, can I…can I maybe go with the housekeeping staff for the day? Do a bit of overtime?”

“You need yer sleep.” He grunted, and ran a hand over his sweating skull. He was drenched in sweat from both the intensity of the earlier performance as well as from worry. When Asgore had finally allowed you to leave, he’d been pacing outside the office like a caged tiger. “Ya know what? I’ve had enough for the night. Boss an’ the others can handle the rest of the guests, it ain’t like its rocket science.” He loosened his tie. “C’mon, you an’ me are gonna screw. I’ma get a hooker an’ then we’ll be golden t’ go.”

“Go where?”

“T’ fuckin’ bed. I’m beat, sweetcheeks.” He ordered a round from Grillby, gulped it down like he was dying of thirst, and swung an arm around your waist. “You say ya can’t sleep? Heh, well, ya did say you’d call me if ya ever need help with that.”

“I’d need a shower and a change of clothes.” You frowned down at your dress. “I’m not sleeping in this.”

“Probably a good idea for me t’ do the same.” He tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his shirt. “Here’s the plan; we both get cleaned up, then I’ll come on over an’ we can see about getting _Ass-gore_ off our minds. Savvy?” He acknowledged Buster with a two-fingered wave and a nod as you passed the front desk.

“Everyone! It’s Lady Luck!” A random guest, one of the small cluster waiting to be checked in, pointed you out excitedly. “Lady! Over here!”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Red stiffen up. He didn’t guard you, as he’d done with Asgore, but he did allow you to walk ahead of him while he kept an eye on the increasingly enthusiastic group attempting to garner your attention. In the interest of public relations, Lady smiled broadly at her admirers and swept into a deep curtsey. “Don’t _straight flush_ your luck down the toilet; give Deadluck a _full house_ , and you’ll be sure to have the Midas Touch!”

The guests advanced eagerly, forcing Red to put on his most intimidating glower. “Move along, nuthin’ t’ see here.” You had to wait for him by the stairs while he shooed them back. “Shoulda just took a shortcut.” He grumbled under his breath as he shoved the bar on the door with a bit more force than was necessary.

You parted ways in the hall; him going to the farthest room on the left-hand side of the hall and you turning your key in the door of the second-to-last apartment on the opposite end. The basement was of a tremendous size in order to accommodate ten full-size apartments, a utility area that included five each of both washers and dryers, as well as a formal meeting room. You’d planned both major performances there with the rest of the staff, gone over budgeting with Boss in regards to royalties owed, and many other such things. Deadluck was relatively small compared to many other casinos and hotels on the strip, so every bit of space had to be efficiently used. There wasn’t a single square inch wasted in the entire hotel.

You were glad Boss had taken the time to assist you with getting your spending habits in order. If Red had visited earlier, you would probably have felt embarrassed over the state of the place. By now, you’d managed to spruce it up and make it homier with a modest amount of furniture and décor fitting to your tastes. Boss had approved your request to have the walls painted and the carpet changed to something more to your liking, although you were certainly going to have to pay for those renovations.

Showering as quickly as you could, you pulled on your favorite pajamas and waited patiently for Red. It wasn’t long, only about ten or so minutes after you’d sat down, that he warped in. “Figured I’d bring somethin’ over.” He tossed you an ice-cold coke and a candy bar before plopping down on the couch with a groan.

“Sugar before bed?”

He was already tearing into his own snack. “If duct tape can’t fix it, bacon or chocolate can; you can take that t’ the fuckin’ bank, sis.”

“Hm, I would have thought you’d say alcohol.” You mused as you cracked the seal on your bottle.

He snorted and took a long gulp from his soda. “Booze ain’t never solved a single fuckin’ problem in this world, toots, but I’ve never had a clearer thought than right after a bit of good food. Don’t get me wrong, the sauce is fun t’ dip into, but a man without self-control ain’t worth the time of day in my opinion. Seen too many people drown in drink searchin’ for an answer at the bottom of the bottle t’ make that mistake.”

“I’ve never tried alcohol or been around anyone who drank at all before.” You admitted. “It’s probably not for me, but you seem to handle it well enough. I’d trust a drunken you more than I’d trust a sober stranger.”

“I could be smoked as a sausage, but I wouldn’t hurtchya. Ain’t got it in me t’ put tears in those eyes.”  He frowned and tapped the glass lip of the bottle against his teeth. “So, you gonna tell me what Señor Fluffybutt had t’ say?”

“He basically said if I mess up, he’s going to take it out on you.”

“Me?” He scoffed derisively. “Heh, like t’ see ‘im try.” He seemed to sense your worry, despite how hard you tried to sound unaffected, and tugged you into his lap. “I’ll be fine. Asgore’s got a lotta power, but he’s got a potato battery-powered lump between his furry ears; the kind of guy who punches first an’ thinks later. He ain’t gonna get close t’ you after this, you can bet yer sweet ass he won’t. He doesn’t get t’ _pull the shots_ here an’ if he thinks I’m gonna let shit like that stand, he’s dumber than I thought…an’ I thought he was a massive fuckin’ idiot in the first place.”

“Why do you think he’s better than your Don?” You twisted around to face him.

“Asgore’s got different motivations.” Red tucked one arm behind his head. “The guy I work for…he ain’t yer run-of-the-mill crime boss; he’s plannin’ to take over the strip. It’s why he wanted monsters in his organization. He’s desperate for more power; he’d do anything, murder anyone –hurt _anyone-_  to get what he wants. Guy would shoot his firstborn in the head if he could get a mile more territory for doin’ it.”

“But,” You chewed on your lip until you felt him touching your face to tug your bottom lip from between your teeth. You braced your hands on his shoulders. “Red, I’m terrified of-“

“Everything is gonna be okay.” His hands settled around your waist and his thumbs rubbed gentle, comforting circles over your stomach. “I ain’t gonna let anything happen to ya.”

“I’m afraid for _you_. If something happens to me, it doesn’t really-“

He clapped his hand over your mouth. “Don’t you _fucking dare_ say shit like that. Do you think those people downstairs were comin’ by t’ see _me_ juggle fuckin’ bowling pins or jump from a tightrope or dress up in a pound of makeup an’ do a fuckin’ jig? Hell to the fuck _no_. They’re here for you! Even if they weren’t, it don’t make or break you. What did I say ‘bout spoutin’ that kinda bull? _What did I fuckin’ say?_ ” He snatched his hand back.

“You said I’m a star.”

He relaxed a little and nodded sharply. “Damn right, I did. You’re just as important in this as I am, an’ if anything, it’s more dangerous for you.”

You booped him in the forehead. “Well, technically, they did come for you tonight.” You smirked down at him as he spluttered and protested. “We’ve got lady gamblers, too. I’m sure they were pleased as punch to see you strutting about.”

He chuckled with you. “Smartass.” He jokingly accused.

Whenever he was truly smiling, you felt like you’d accomplished something big. Oftentimes, he’d mope around with a semi-permanent frown, yet somehow you could pry off the rotting boards he’d built his mental fences out of. It was, you believed, one of the few comforts you could offer him. Money could buy everything except the way he was looking at you right now and that was a sentiment more moving than any physical gift anyway.

He was touchingly open tonight; as the hour wore on, he told you a few stories from the time he’d spent in the Underground. He held back on the unpleasant ones, they wouldn’t have been conducive to the mood, and instead chose to share a couple of good memories. He fondly recalled salvaging a busted-up desktop computer from the dump and fixed it up as a gift for Boss. “Took me a frickin’ year t’ figure out how t’ do it an’ t’ get all right parts, but I had it ready for him the day after Giftmas. The idiot thought he wasn’t gettin’ shit that year. Shoulda saw the look on ‘is face when he found the box at the foot of his bed the next mornin’.”

“Giftmas…is that kind of like monster Christmas?”

“Yeah, sorta.”

“I’ve always loved the holidays. I remember one Christmas I bought a light-up snowflake to hang in my window at the orphanage.” You smiled at the memory. “It was my first Christmas teaching…if I’m honest, I wasn’t so much a teacher as a babysitter for the babies and toddlers who were too young to learn their letters. This one boy -I can’t remember his name now- was fascinated by it. He’d always be watching the lights change color and flash. When Christmas Eve came, I wrapped it up in a bit of tissue paper and scotch tape and hid it in his stocking. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone’s face light up brighter than when he unwrapped it the next morning.” You sipped at your coke and sighed contentedly. “When you have nothing, even the smallest of kindnesses are magical.”

“Was it rough?”

“No, not in the way you grew up.” You tipped the bottle back and emptied it with a final, hearty swallow. “I was provided for at the barest minimum, and I was never sent to one of the bad homes. Some of the other orphans were given to people who wanted compensation.” He gave you an odd look, which prompted you to explain. “The government pays foster parents to take care of the children and it’s supposed to be money that goes toward feeding, housing, and clothing them, but a few pocket the money. Sometimes, kids would starve with food one room away or go to school in clothes that might as well be rags.”

“People like that oughta be taken out back an’ shot.”

You fiddled with your candy wrapper so you wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. “It happens. When someone signs up to foster, they don’t get to pick the kid as you do with adoption, and that’s how I ended up being sent back so many times. People would do all the paperwork, hope for a boy, and then they’d get me. They’d let me stay for a while, the longest was nine months, and then back to Miles Hershe I’d go. You learn to live with the knowledge nobody wants you.”

“Jeez…that’s…uh…” He ran his tongue over his golden fang. “Dunno if it means much, but we wantchya here, sweetcheeks.”

You lowered your head, not trusting yourself to answer. He may indeed wish for you to stay, you believed him with all your heart. Still, there was an evil whisper at the back of your mind you’d been forcing away for these two months. Eventually, you’d be dismissed. It was an inescapable part of your life, and no matter if he saw a friend in you or not. You desperately desired to stay, to finally have a _home_ and friends who were as good as family, but there were moments when you doubted. “Why?”

He remained silent beneath you, his legs pinned between your knees by the way you were seated on his lap, and motionless. The armrest under his hand was creaking from the stress of his phalanges sinking into the cloth as the seconds trotted on like horses in an endless parade. When he finally acted, you only caught a blur of movement before his tongue was twisting with yours.

This time, there was no surge of adrenaline to excuse it. His mouth was thick with the taste of cola, and when you caught small chances at breathing, you could smell the oaky burn of aged whiskey and the merciless bite of gun smoke. You tried to kiss him back, and ended up catching your tongue on the point of one of his teeth. The flavor of blood mixed with the sweetness of soda while his hands worked at the buttons on your sleepshirt.

Misty magic drifted from his body in trailing clouds like fingers that curled around you before evaporating into thin air. A warble and the faint hint of ozone was all the warning you had before the both of you were falling through the void. Like a cat refusing to land on its back, he agilely twisted mid-fall to put himself on top not a moment before hitting your bed with a soft _whump_. The springs squeaked like frightened mice under the foreign weight and the wind was knocked of you on impact. He ground his pelvis between your parted legs and fought with your remaining buttons as if they’d personally insulted him.

You gave in to the enticing chance at some exploration of your own and tugged on the knot that held his smoking jacket closed. Beneath the jacket and the black cotton two-piece, his bones were scarred and thickened by breaks and chips, which served as his diploma from the school of hard knocks. Fissures spanning several inches marred the surface in several places. Tracing them made him shiver and moan until his patience was shredded and your hands were trapped above your head.

With his free hand, he tugged at your pajama bottoms until they were past your knees and you could kick them off. Your heart galloped like a wild horse behind your ribs as he scraped his fingertips over your naked stomach, and magic glittered as it settled onto your bared skin like many thousands of scarlet-hued snowflakes. The sharp edges of his phalanges caught on the fabric of your underwear, and he made a point to look you in the eye as he guiltlessly ripped them asunder.

You knew it wouldn’t be comfortable, but he didn’t have to know that. You didn’t want him to bother taking much longer, you only knew you needed him and damn the consequences. But there was something wrong about the face he was making now as his fingers traced your entrance, had you upset him? “Virgin.” It wasn’t a question, but you nodded regardless. “ _Shit_ -“ He ripped his hand away and seemed to snap out of the lust. “This ain’t right…fuck… _fuck._ ” He scrambled off the bed.

“No…no, wait!”

“Nope, we can’t do this. Sorry, sweetcheeks, I wasn’t thinkin’.” He shook his head hard and scowled harshly at the ground.

“I’m…I’m sorry.”

He gritted his teeth together as he fixed his clothes. “Ain’t you.” Snapping his fingers, he opened up a warp and was about to step through when you called out for him again. He hesitated, already turned away and ready to leave.

“Red…what _are_ we?” Your voice may have broken a little on the question, but your heart was what was shattering.

His fists balled at his sides. “Friends.” He stepped through the warp without another word, leaving you cold and alone.


	15. The Show Must Go On

Your lips were tilted up at the corners, but it didn’t so much as brush your eyes. If _you_ could see how haggard you were, then you were sure everyone else would as well. Make-up wasn’t much assistance, either, since somehow it only made you appear more exhausted than without. So, you decided to give up for now and settled for plopping down on top of the toilet lid. You didn’t even bother turning off the curling iron you’d been twirling through your hair in an effort to grant some life to the dead-eyed woman in the mirror.

You didn’t know how long you stared at the floor, but it had to have been at least half an hour. This was made plain by the incessant pounding that came from the otherside of the bathroom door. “Young lady, the show begins in fifteen minutes! Why are you not in your designated performance area?”

You sighed, tucking a loose strand of your hair into place under your decorative headband. _The show must go on._ “Coming, Boss.” Upon opening the door, you were promptly yanked into your living room and dragged to the couch.

“You’ve been hiding in your room for three days now!” Boss jabbed a finger into your chest accusingly.

You frowned. “I have not. I’ve been going through my routines as per usual.”

This answer seemed to merely piss him off more. “You go straight to your room! You don’t bother stopping to speak with anyone and you’ve-” He huffed through his nose. “-...you’ve canceled every chapter reading! How am I supposed to know how Treasure Island ends if _you_ don’t tell me?”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have...I just don’t feel up to it.” You gently removed his hand from your wrist.

“Are you sick?” Boss eyed you suspiciously. “You _are_ fairly pale.” He touched your forehead lightly, as if to check your temperature, and scowled. “You’re cold. You must have an illness.” His sockets softened the slightest bit before he rose. He straightened his suit, marching right to the door and refusing to look at you. “Just so you are aware...Sans has not been feeling well, either. He has taken the day off. You might as well do the same.”

He immediately took his leave, abandoning you to stare at the door. Astonished at his abrupt departure, you wondered why he hadn’t stuck around. Boss wasn’t the kind of guy to let sleeping dogs lie. He was more of the ‘kick the sleeping dogs awake and scold them for being lazy’ kind. Making mention of allowing Red his own day off had you puzzled as well, since Boss made a point of keeping Red’s ass in gear. Strange, to say the least.

You strayed about your apartment absently, eyes unfocused as you drifted through each room on a search to take your mind off reality. Fantasy was easier, but you found it more difficult at the moment to let your mind wander off on tangents. Finally, after a full fifteen minutes of hunting for a distraction, you gave up.

Flinging your headband to the ground, you flew to the bathroom in order to scrub the make-up from your skin. You wouldn’t need it now, anyway, so why clog your pores unnecessarily? Once you’d buffed away the cakey, powdery mess, you strode to your closet. From a thick, plastic hanger, you yanked a wool, double-breasted trenchcoat and buttoned it over your dress. You weren’t going to bother removing that; you were only taking a short walk, after all.

 Fresh air was exactly what you needed...or least different air than what lingered in the hotel. So, upon gathering up your purse (slipping that on _under_ your coat for safety’s sake) you took the stairs up to the first floor. You figured it was safe because Red wasn’t likely to be found within fifteen feet of a stairwell. Getting past Buster, too, was simple enough; he raised an eyebrow, yet said nothing as you breezed on by.

Outside, it was drafty and wet. For some odd reason, it seemed to rain so often here. You were certain it hadn’t rained quite this much in Pennsylvania or back home. Still, the slight drizzle was refreshing compared to the stuffy, tense air back in Deadluck. Crossing the street took you in front of a heavy line of honking traffic as your departure had coincided with the evening commuters. The sidewalk was filled with tiny cracks and pockmarks, stained by black circles of what used to be gum, and wound through the city like a scarred, gray snake.

 A passing sedan splashed your lower leg with a wave of water that had collected in a pothole. “Aw, come on.” You groaned as you pressed onward. The cushioning pads on your high heels were soaked through. The chilly air now felt freezing on your feet and legs as you power-walked down the street. You had no true destination in mind, although it was clearly to be as far away from the hotel as possible.

As if God were shaking a sippy cup over the entire city, water continued to dribble down on all who dared venture outside. In the gloom of a clouded evening, there was nothing darker than the spirits of those lost souls wandering these streets. Few were out, for even in the Big Onion no one seemed to enjoy the rain. The scent of wet asphalt, oily and acrid, mixed with exhaust fumes, cigarettes, and desperation. This was the city that never slept, yet always dreamed.

Dreams could be found, washed out and discarded, in the trash of a mother of three as she threw out the pictures of her ex-husband for the sanitation workers to take away. Dreams were in the artists dragging their damp easels and hocking corny caricatures to pay their rent. Dreams were as common as the reek of unwashed skin that hung in the alleys where the homeless bundled themselves up for another cold night in an uncaring world. Corpses of dreams were cast aside as easily as dice in this rough city. You were beginning to feel like one of those abandoned, sleepless dreams.

Your fingers ached as the autumn chill worked down to your knuckle bones, but you stuffed them into your pockets and stubbornly kept going. Music, undefined and blended out as it bled from the myriad of evening businesses, accompanied you like an old friend on your journey. Jazzy solos on the sax, drums booming to join in on a swing dance with a cello, spoke louder than your own thoughts. Focusing on that, you plodded along with hunched shoulders.

You passed a few street signs, aimlessly turning left, then right, then right again in a hunt for peace. The apartments transformed into slums as you continued; broken glass and shattered hearts littered this particular stretch of Ebott City. Most of the buildings here were owned by middlemen who were paid handsomely to put their own names on the papers bought by one don or the other. You weren’t sure who ran this area, but it was plain to see they didn’t care.

You kept your eyes down, so as not to attract attention, and took note of the metal pike as you rounded yet another corner, however didn’t take care to so much as glance at the sign. A raindrop plopped onto your head, rolling through your hair and down your collar. You shivered, but passed onto another street.

It had to have been an hour or so since you’d set out, but you didn’t dare take out your pocket watch in a place like this to check. Instead, your eyes darted to the sky to see it had grown darker still. A lone star, shy yet determined, peeked curiously out from...oh wait, that was the light from a radio tower, not a freaking star. Sighing, you dropped your gaze back to the sidewalk.

Oddly enough, the heavy, concrete jungle of buildings was growing sparse. Tendrils of smog reached out in longing whorls as the city scrabbled to hold on at the edges, but that soon gave way to clear space on one side. Cast iron fence posts gated in a rare sight; green grass in the middle of a sea of gray. Curious, you picked up the pace until you found yourself stepping through a decorative metal arch. There were words in the scrawling curls of the iron, but you paid them no heed.

It was a park, expansive and as green as anything could hope to be in early september. Browned husks of dead summer flowers lined the path like ghosts in jewel shades and perfumes lingering to grieve their own short lives. Your heels made a steady clip as you stepped lively farther into the park. A children’s playground, coated in bright colors chipped by age and wear, caught your attention as the wind caused one of the swings to creak loudly.

The unexpected sound had sent a spike of fear straight through your chest, and you weren’t quick to come down from the fright. Your breath came a little faster even as your feet bore you along without hesitance. You had an odd feeling you weren’t supposed to be here; that you’d trodden on hostile soil. It was a creeping chill down your spine, a cold sweat that sprang up at no obvious behest, and a horrific feeling of eyes in the trees.

“Well, well-” Said a voice like the crumbling of crematorium ashes laced with arsenic. “What do we have here, hm?” An older gentleman stepped out of the shadows of the oak trees and straight into your way. Boldly, he approached and smiled, but the smile held no more warmth than an arctic morning. “Lost, my dear? You shouldn’t be in the park late at night...it’s when _other_ things come out to play.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but couldn’t find your voice. Movement out of the corner of your eyes made you focus in on the shadows. There, in the dark, were several other people. Metallic glints twinkled in the dim light while your stomach dropped straight to your feet.

The older man clasped his hands in front of him, still bearing that awful smile. “You’ve disturbed my friends and me.” Like a snake striking, he suddenly lurched forward and grabbed the front of your coat. “Such a pity-” He traced the tip of his finger down the side of your face. “-such a pretty thing.”

“I didn’t...I…” You squirmed, trying to break free. “I swear, I didn’t even see you there! I didn’t do anything!”

“Ah, so she _does_ speak.” He chuckled, an evil sound like a devil’s vibrato. “Sadly, my dear, it doesn’t matter if you did or you didn’t. It’s nothing against you, of course, but we simply can’t take any risks. It’s all just a matter of-” Cold iron caressed your skin like a lover’s tongue, and the unknown man smirked. “- _bad luck_.”

“Hands off the merchandise, Murphy.”

‘Murphy’ scowled as his gaze settled on someone behind your shoulder and you _prayed_ it was who you thought it was. “Mr. Osseus...my, what a... _pleasure._ ” He spat out the word like it was poison.

“Heya, pal.” The sharp scent of a cigar stung your nose. “The broad’s with me. Don’t ya go loadin’ my meal ticket up with lead now, or I’ma have to spread you like butter up an’ down Main Street. We clear?”

“Meal ticket?” Murphy’s heavy, gray brows furrowed in confusion.

Red snagged the back of your coat, dragging you to his side and looping an arm around your waist. “Yup, yer lookin’ at the _famous_ Lady Luck. You lay another hand on ‘er an’ you’ll have t’ be explainin’ to the Don why he ain’t gettin’ his personal show next week. You know-” Red pulled his fedora low over a feral grin. “-the one he was _so damn excited_ t’ see? The one he paid _in advance_ for? The show he’s been talkin’ on an’ on about for _days_?” His grip on you tightened. “He’ll be so disappointed, Murphy. An’ when he find out it’s you what done it...well, I wouldn’t wanna be you, that’s for damn sure.”

Murphy paled considerably, and then hastily shoved his revolver into the hidden holster beneath his suit jacket. “Of course..” He drew out his words carefully, his eyes studying you closely, but then they hardened. “How do I know you’re not lying through your teeth, monster?”

Red bristled for a second at the derogatory tone Murphy’d taken on. “Do ya wanna find out?” His words were soft...dangerously so.

“I’ve got proof!” You nearly shouted, drawing the attention of both men back to you. You hastily unbuttoned your jacket to reveal that unmistakable, custom-made dress. There was barely a man in Ebott City who hadn’t memorized every curve that dress accentuated, and you heard a few low whistles from the triggermen lingering in the shadows.

“Why would _the_ Lady Luck be wandering around Paradise Park?” Murphy scoffed, although there was considerable self-doubt growing in his eyes.

“P-paradise…?” You made a squeaky, unimpressive noise, and your eyes shot up to find Red glaring down at you. “I...was...I wanted some fresh air! I had no clue anyone...um... _important_ would be here. I just wanted to go someplace quiet!”

“Hey, Lady-” One of the triggermen jogged up to you,and fortunately breaking the tense atmosphere.”-can I get yer autograph?” He shoved a playing card and a pen into your hands.

“Oh...um...sure, I suppose.” You laughed nervously. “If you promise not to shoot me!”

He broke out in a giant grin and shook his head hard enough to make his hat fall off. “Nah, nah! ‘Course not. Can ya write it out t’ Jimmy? Tha’s mah name, see. Jimmy Price.”

Neither Red nor Murphy spoke, more likely out of sheer disbelief than anything else, while you used Jimmy’s cigarette case to be able to press your signature into the stiff, glossy cardstock. “There you go.” You offered it to him with as big a smile as you could under the circumstances. The circumstances being that Mr. Jimmy Price and all his buddies were freaking _mobsters_.

Jimmy was actually blushing by now as he stammered. The poor guy had a serious case of ‘star-struck’. “C-can ya...can ya maybe kiss it, too? For...uh...good luck, I mean.”

You stared at the card. “Um...okaaay.” You brought it to your lips and gave it a good three second smooching before offering it again. “Have a great night, Jimmy.” You meant it, too. Despite the whole ‘being a cold-hearted killer’ thing, he seemed like a sweet guy. He even waved at you before snatching up his hat and skedaddling back to the group of waiting triggermen.

“Well, that was fuckin’ weird.” Red snickered, removing his cigar long enough to tap out the ashes deliberately onto Murphy’s shoes. “Anyway, Murphy, we was just ‘bout done with the deal, so I’ma get this little lady home.” He jammed the cigar back into the corner of his mouth and turned his back on Murphy. Upon summoning a warp leading straight back to Deadluck, he glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, an’ Murphy?” Red smirked. “That coulda been bad. Might wanna think ‘fore ya whip out yer gun next time. Makes a guy like me nervous, an’ you won’t like me when I’m nervous. Gives me an itchy trigger finger, if ya know what I mean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, baby! Haha! Yes! This was awesome to come back to. Sorry it's taken so long to answer everyone's comments and then upload. I haven't forgotten you guys! Thanks for hanging in there with me. Also, I have a playlist for this. I would recommend listening while reading, if you'd like.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLTFi2nj7iSZqzIYQzMdwbGcGfXAs2yyFX
> 
> Oh, and the chapter called Marienwürmchen was named after J. Brahms' orchestral version of a nursery rhyme called 'Ladybird'. Check it out! It's a beautiful song.


	16. Cat's Canary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEFORE YOU CONTINUE PLEASE GO BACK AND READ CHAPTER 15 LOVELIES! I removed the hiatus post and put in the actual chapter there. Otherwise you guys might be a little lost since this continues on from the end of that.

As it turned out, he’d opened the warp up right into your apartment. Once both of you were through, he paused for a single second before grabbing your shoulder with one hand and shoving you up against a wall. “What the  _ hell _ were ya thinkin’?!” His words were barely more than snarls. “Coulda gotten yerself fuckin’  _ killed _ ! Didn’t I tell ya...didn’t I fucking TELL ya not t’ go over thatta way?!

You were too stunned to reply. He hadn’t ever screamed at you before, never so much as scolded you, but now he was livid. You couldn’t even plead your case because his ranting drowned out all efforts made in your defense. He shook you hard enough to rattle your bones, and his sharp phalanges were cutting into your skin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to yell back. “Why the fuck aren’t ya sayin’ anything?! Don’t ya fuckin’ hear me at all? You know who that was? THAT WAS FUCKIN’ BRIAN MURPHY! He...aghhhh…” His mouth pulled up over his teeth to bare all of them in a gruesome, frustrated growl. “He’s bad news,  _ real _ bad news. Cold as ice, an’ sharp as a fuckin’ tack. He’s mah don’s second in command. He does mosta his fuckin’ business outta Paradise Park, since he fuckin’ owns the place an’ the slums all around there. He woulda...he woulda...fuckin’ hell, c’mere.” He yanked you forward by the front of your coat, took the cigar from between his teeth, and smashed his mouth into yours.

He held you there, his anger leaking into the rather violent kiss, as his teeth bit harshly into your lips and his tongue made war on yours. His breath came in boiling bursts on your skin, and magic snapped in the air like strings of firecrackers. When he finally pulled himself away, he scowled. “Don’tchya ever do somethin’ that stupid again.”

You touched your fingertips to your stinging lips and examined the beads of blood solemnly. What was he playing at? “Let me guess-” You wiped the blood on your coat, narrowing your eyes. “-you still don’t have the time to look after ‘spacey dames’?”

“Damn right, I don’t.” Your blood had stained his teeth and mouth, and you watched as his tongue swiped across them. His eye lights flashed brighter for a moment before simmering down once more.

“Well then, why don’t you leave me alone?” You hissed back. All of the hurt and humiliation of the past three days washed over you like a tidal wave to knock your common sense to the back of your mind. “You keep saying we’re friends, then you kiss me, and then you...you fucking asshole! I’m tired of all this-” You waved your hands wildly between the two of you. “-coming and going! What the heck do you want from me?!” You threw your hands up in disgust. “You need to fucking tell me, Red, because I sure as hell don’t know!”

He dragged his fingers over his skull, scratching at the bone hard enough to send a bit of dust flying into the air. “Sweetcheeks, ya know we can’t. You know  _ why _ we can’t.” His tongue flicked over his mouth again to catch another drop of your blood.

You groaned, and flopped onto your couch. Today was supposed to be about relaxing, it was supposed to be about getting away, but it seemed like nearly everyone you met was either trying to kill you or fuck you or both. It felt like a play; an extravagant, poorly written, romantic comedy thrust into the hands of an action movie director. “So, it’s next week?” You grabbed an accent pillow to press over your eyes since you could feel a stress headache starting to pound at your temples. “I thought you were going to hold off a little longer.”

He lifted your mud-spattered legs to allow himself room to sit down, and the settled them back into his lap. His fingers tugged at the straps on your stilettos as he eased them off your feet. The uncharacteristically sweet gesture made you peek out from under your pillow. “Was gonna.” He grunted as he traced the line of your left ankle. “But he brought it up ‘imself an’ I couldn’t exactly say no. Short notice, but I know ya can come up with somethin’ t’ blow his wig. I got all the faith in the world in ya.”

You sighed heavily and pressed the pillow harder to your face. How could you come up with something, practice it, and perfect it in less than a week?! “It’s gonna have to be big...impressive...something no one’s seen before…” You mumbled.

The pillow was suddenly stolen, making you wince in pain and forcing you to shade your eyes. “You can do it, doll.” Red pulled you into a sitting position to place his hands on either sides of your head. A scarlet glow filled your peripheral vision.

Giving in to his touch felt like coming home. Your thoughts became misty and warm while your eyelids slowly drooped. Sighing, you leaned into him and watched his face through half-closed eyes. “Sorry, sweetcheeks. I shoulda never let it go that far the other day.” His expression was tinged with guilt and a darker hint of something else that made your heart quicken. “Wasn’t thinkin’ ‘bout the consequences.”

“What  _ were _ you thinking about?” You were disappointed he’d let his hand drop from your face.

Red pinched his nasal ridge, gritting his teeth. “I dunno. Just thinkin’ with my damn dick, probably.”

An odd sort of bravery came over you at that moment; now if it was from the residual terror of nearly being killed (again!) or if it was because you were still furious at him for being so darn wishy-washy, that all remained to be seen. However, what you  _ were _ confident in was he’d finally admitted being attracted to you, albeit in a roundabout manner. “If we both keep dancing around each other, people are going to start to notice.” You laid your hand on his leg. “It’ll be easier if we have a way to relieve the tension.”

Sanguine smoke seeped from his sockets and his teeth made a frightful grinding noise as he eyed you up and down. “Got any suggestions on how t’ do that, sweetcheeks?”

None that you could properly voice, but you definitely had something on your mind. You slowly eased off your coat and tossed it in his lap. “If I’m gonna give your don a private show, then I should give you one first to be fair.” The sequins of your dress glittered as you moved your hands down your own hips. Only, this wasn’t Lady who’d perform for him...it was you.

His mouth curled into a sinister grin. “For once, bein’ the boss has got its perks. A’ight, sugar-” He loosened his tie, untucked his shirt, and shrugged out of his blazer to make himself comfortable. “-you wanna drum roll for this one or what?”

You shrugged and winked. “I don’t think a drum roll is necessary, but a little ambiance wouldn’t hurt.” You grabbed the tv remote and flipped to a decent jazz channel; the kind of tunes you could really sway your hips to. With every crash of the drums, you flicked your hips to the side and the tassels flipped up in a shimmery, scarlet wave. On each long, low note of the sax, you shimmied and shook your garters loose.

Red relaxed into the sofa to lazily watch you with lowered sockets, but you knew you had his full attention. As the wordless song ended, you strutted up to his knees and pushed him firmly into the backrest. Another, slower tune began and you smiled down at him. “I never thought I’d see the devil in a suit.”

“Gimme a sec an’ the suit’ll be off...right along with that fuckin’ dress.”

“It’s coming off regardless.” You almost burst out laughing at the look on his face. You tugged down a single strap, fully aware of the weight of his gaze as he followed your movements, and then removed the other until the front of the dress clung to your chest only because of rain water and a prayer.

You pinned him between your knees, grabbed him by the tie, and rocked your hips against his. The dress edged further down until one of your nipples shyly peeked above the crest of sparkling fabric. Red exploited the opportunity and ducked his head to latch onto your breast. His tongue swiped mercilessly over your sensitive skin and, through the haze of pleasure, you saw his hands working furiously on his belt.

There was something about the jangle and the rustle of clothing that made you shudder. “Ya asked me what I wanted before, sweetcheeks-” His thumb swirled over the head of his cock as he spoke. “-an’ it’s not complicated. Timing’s off, is all. When all this is over, I’ma have ya screamin’ mah name every night ‘til the end of creation.” He smirked as he jerked himself off between your parted legs. “Gonna ride me, cowgirl?”

An idea, inspired in part by his comment, suddenly blasted your brain straight out of the spiraling descent of lust. You hopped off his lap, running off to your bedroom to tug on something presentable, and ran for the door. “Ey! Get back here!” Red tried to snag you as you sped by, but you dodged him at the last second. “Where the hell’re ya goin’?”

“To see Boss!” You forced your feet into your shoes, tugging lightly at the heels to adjust the backs where they’d bent in. “I know what we’re going to do for the don’s show!”

“Fuckmotherin’...stars…” Red growled under his breath as he tried to compose himself. “Get back here, woman, an’ finish whatchya fuckin’ started!”

You giggled into your hand as you started out the door. “You were  _ handling _ yourself just fine before. I’m sure you’ll manage, but don’t forget to clean up after you’re done!”

Red gawked at the door as it slammed shut. “BLUE BALLS HURTS YA KNOW!” He shouted at the closed door, before dropping to the couch with an irritated, grumbled mix of curses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you all proceed, please go back and read 15! I removed the hiatus post and put in the actual chapter there. Otherwise you guys might be a little lost since this continues on from the end of that.


	17. Boom Boom, baby

Everyone had their jobs cut out for them over the next few days. After discussing your plan with Boss and obtaining his approval, you were able to start almost right away. Enlisting the help of Alphys, Undyne, Buster, Grillby, and the majority of the hotel staff, the performance was knitting itself together nicely. There were a few hiccups, such as when Grillby miscalculated his aim and ended up setting a poor bunny server’s skirt on fire, but all was mostly going smoothly.

So, here you were, twenty minutes before the don’s scheduled arrival, and the entire hotel was abuzz with activity. Alphys was making some last minute effects adjustments over by the bandstand; a toolbox lay open beside her as she tweaked a few bolts and messed with the rollers on the rolling background. Across from her, Undyne was marching up and down her line of triggermen guards, shouting orders as she stomped, and assigning specific duties to each one.

Above you, Grillby was patrolling the area where his part in the act would take place. He stroked the line of his fiery chin thoughtfully, and then caught sight of you watching. He nodded sharply at you and, despite the fact that he lacked a discernable mouth, you felt he was smirking proudly. He hadn’t gotten a chance to show off in any of the other performances, so he was definitely preening over this.

The band had claimed Boss’s office to practice because it had the best acoustics (as they’d been unceremoniously kicked from the bandstand by Undyne at Alphys’ request), which meant Boss was forced to stride around the entire casino barking various orders and making minute adjustments. Currently, he was scowling over a poorly placed potted plant. After a few seconds, he gave the pot a kick out of frustration.

You giggled, turning your attention to Buster and the bunny servers. “A’ight, ladies.” Buster put his arms around the shoulders of the closest two in a football-style huddle. “These are Don Skintag’s men, so treat ‘em nice. Be respectful, but they ain’t  _ good _ guys, ya understand? So’s ya gottsta watch it an’ make sure ya ain’t  _ too _ nice. You don’t want any o’ these guys takin’ a second glance, if ya know what I’m sayin’.” The serviers nodded collectively and shuddered.

Red was...you weren’t really sure where he was, actually. Boss implied that his brother would be escorting the don personally to the hotel, but not much other than that. You clapped your hands loudly and cupped your hands around your mouth. “Ten minutes ‘til showtime, everyone!”

Alphys tossed her tools into the box, and Undyne shooed her men away to their posts. Boss finally fixed that darn plant, the servers took their positions along the main doorway with Buster waiting at the head of the line, and the band scarpered into the stand. Jogging up to the second floor, you hid yourself away in Boss’ office to await the don’s arrival, but kept the door cracked in order to observe the events below.

The lights snapped off, one by one, until the entire casino was an noiseless, ebony void. A buzz, like that of a robotic honeybee, broke the silence. As nervous as you could ever feel before a performance, you rolled a tiny smoke bomb around in your hand. Silence was replaced by a low murmur, and you saw the dark outlines of two figures step through Red’s warp. One was obviously Red, his size gave that away, but you had no way of knowing who the other might be.

The casino burst to life in a cacophony of light and sound; cheers erupted from the line of servers as a spotlight focused in on Red and the unknown man. Waterfalls of rose petals and golden tokens rained down on them both as they walked by. Once they’d gotten half way up the stairs, the band started up. The base began to click away, and was met by a crash on the cymbals from the drummer as you readied yourself for the most vital performance you’d ever given.

The music rose, the pace going faster and faster, until a warp small enough to toss your smoke bomb through. You smashed it to the floor on the other side, and the warp responded by growing large enough to accomodate you. Red was truly brilliant when it came to these little shortcuts of his!

Lady stepped through the warp and, in the midst of the smoke, mounted her mechanical steed. She rode on through the blood-red smoke as the rolling background took her through an endless line of desert. “ **He got me with a hook-** ” The smoke slowly shimmered away and a series of whoops soon followed. “ **Those big bass notes, thunder in my chest, stuck in my throat.** ” The bucking bronco of steel and gears moved under her in time with gallop of the base. “ **Pullin’ me down like a rumble in the ground. Crawls up from the depths with a deep down sound.** ”

Her sequin dress had been replaced by a similar vest and poet shirt rolled up to her elbows, and a mini skirt rode up nearly to her hips as she clamped her legs tight to stay astride the metal bull. From tasseled holsters, she yanked a pair of pop-gun pistols. “ **Johnny gotta boom boom, Johnny gotta bam. He gotta-** ” She let off a couple of rounds, filling the air with puffs of smoke. “ **Big bomb body, long lean neck, swear it was a woman that he had in his grip.** ” Lady maintained her seat on the wild mount between her legs, her curls flipping and flying every which way. “ **Big vibrations yeah...Just one glance. He’s gonna blow my mind. He’s gonna make me wanna, make me wanna -ohh!** ” She squeezed off another pair of shots and the small audience went mad. “ **Johnny gotta boom boom, Johnny gotta bam, he gotta-** ”

The desert scene transformed to night as the rollers ran another continuous sheet through right on time. Alphys had done an extraordinary job with the thing, despite the time crunch. “ **Watch that man, see what’s in his hands. Got no toy, he’s a big bad boy.** ” A handful of guards, handkerchiefs covering their faces and sporting cowboy hats, approached the stage. She aimed and popped them off, one by one. “ **He’s gonna freak ya out. You’re gonna shriek out loud. He’s gotchya in his hands. Gonna make ya wanna, make ya wanna -ohh!** ” She kicked out at the face of the ‘bandit’ trying to yank her off, and he fell back with the rest. “ **Johnny gotta boom boom, Johnny gotta bam. He gotta-** ” The base cantered off, and the mechanical bull reared higher than it ever had.

Lady came tumbling backward off the bull, landing on her feet in a stunningly executed flip that made a smattering of applause ring out through the room. The spotlight swiveled to light her way as an ambush of highwaymen rushed at her. Her quick pistol work filled the air with smoke and the floor with ‘bodies’ as the music followed her journey down from the bandstand. As the drums grew erratic in their beats, she slung her guns around her thumbs before slipping them smoothly back into their holsters. From her sides, she drew a different set of weapons. Off-stage, the servers screamed on cue as she snapped a pair of bullwhips in the air. “ **Watch that man, see what’s in his hands. Got no toy, he’s a big bad boy.** ” The lights slowly dimmed, and then went out entirely. “ **He’s gonna freak ya out. You’re gonna shriek out loud. He’s gotchya in his hands. Gonna make ya wanna, make ya wanna -ohh!** ”

Off-stage, there was a snap of violet sparks and the ends of the whips blazed to life. The oil-dipped wicks woven into them burned slowly with wicked, amethyst flames. “ **Johhny gotta boom boom, oh yeah!** ” The tips of the whips zipped and tapped the ground as she swung them about as gracefully as if they were merely streamers in an interpretive dance. “ **Johhny gotta bam! I said that Johnny gotta boom boom.** **_Ohh yeah_ ** **, Johnny gotta bam!** ” Ladly crossed the whips, and this was the bit she’d lost sleep over for the past three days. She  _ had  _ to get it right. “ **He gotta, he gotta, he gotta!** ” A perfect heart of purple fire drew out gasps of awe as the clippity-clap of the base sounded out its final notes. The heart lingered, a testament to Grillby’s own magical skill, long enough for a poof of scarlet smoke to punctuate the center and steal Lady away from her adoring fans.

You dropped the whips to the ground, breathless yet proud, and slumped against the wall as the uproar in the casino died down. “I think...I think that went rather well for something hashed together in six days, don’t you?” She inquired of Boss, who was appearing quite perturbed.

“Of course, but now you are presented with the most difficult performance of the night.” He grimaced. “Red has told me the don will be requesting a visit from you.” His gloved hands clenched in his pockets. “Distasteful, yes, but it is a necessary step in the plan. You must make him like you, adore you even, and remember to stay coy. In order to make this work, you’ll need to hold his attention. Not just for tonight, either.”

“I know…” You straightened your gloves and dress. “Do I have time to-”

“He’s wantin’ t’ see ya.” Red barreled into the room. His expression was unreadable, but a wisp of magic followed him like a raincloud in an old cartoon. He looped his arm around your waist, schooled his features into a welcoming grin, and led you out the door. “I’ve ordered a couple of cocktails for ya both...don’t drink the one on the left.” He said through his teeth.

He said nothing else until he’d approached the private gathering where a couple of the leather couches had been shoved together to make room for the attendees. There, surrounded by several rough-looking men wielding tommy guns, was a whale of a man. He was nearly as big as Red and twice as mean-looking. He wore a purely black suit and that, coupled with his size, gave one the impression of an engorged tick. He wasn’t particularly overweight, although he did have a beer gut, but his shoulders were as heavy as cinder blocks and his hands could have been used as sledgehammers. Beetle-black eyes, the corners of which were feathered by time, observed you with a gaze as slick and goopy as crude oil. “Welcome, Lady Luck!” Don Taglioni motioned you over with one thick, be-ringed finger.

...It was going to be a long night.


	18. Tongue of Poison

Red took a few steps back, although you could feel his eyes on your back. Unable to move, you stood staring at the don like an idiot. With black pits for eyes, the ice that rolled off of him froze your very soul. Then, from the depths of your mind, Lady took over and urged your feet forward. She moved your lips into a gracious smile, and she was the one to extend your hand in greeting for the don to take. “Hello, sir. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before.”

His hand was warmer than his gaze, but you still had to force away a shudder when his lips grazed your knuckles. “An unfortunate circumstance. I would have introduced myself much sooner but for some sadly nasty business I’ve had to attend to. I must confess I’ve heard stories from spectators, but those pale in comparison to a demonstration of your talent.”

He shifted his considerable bulk, which took up the greater portion of the couch, and patted the cushion beside him. “Please, have a seat. After such a strenuous performance, you’re certainly aching to be off your feet.”

As Red had forewarned, Grillby strode past the guards with a silver serving tray. Two martinis were placed in front of the don. “For you, my dear.” The don motioned toward the drinks.

_ Which left?! _ Your brain screamed in alarm. Red hadn’t specified, and it looked as though everyone were surprised that the don had requested you to sit at his side. “That is...kind of you, but I’m sure everyone here knows I don’t drink on account of my grandfather, you see.”

“I can vouch for her.” Grillby spoke up. “She’s never touched a drop as long as she’s been here.”

Don Taglioni scowled at Grillby, flipping like a switch from pleasantry to fury. “Did I  _ ask  _ for your input?” His tone prompted several of the guards to immediately level their weapons at the bartender. To Grillby’s credit, he didn’t so much as flicker.

“Please, please, there’s no need. He didn’t mean anything by it. He’s my friend, mister.” You touched the don’s arm pleadingly.

Don Taglioni laid his hand over yours, his voice sickly sweet. “Of course not, my dear, but for future reference, your monster ‘friends’ should know to keep their peace.” He touched your cheek. “Please, call me Jacopo.” His fingers brushed over your skin deceptively kindly. “Forgive me, but I simply must request the honor of your Christian name.”

It wouldn’t be smart to give him your real name. However, your background as a nobody gave you a rather incredible advantage. You could lie easily and get away with it. Records at the orphanage weren’t closely kept. “Well, it’s a funny thing.” You beamed at him, giggling. “My stage name  _ is _ my real name in a way. My mother thought it would be sweet if she named me Lady, since our last name was Bird. Lady Bird...like the bug. A cute joke, isn’t it? She even gave me this before she died.” You unclipped the chain that held your pocket watch in place under your costume and passed it to him.

“Ah, that is certainly sweet. My deepest condolences for your loss. If she were half the woman her daughter is, I’m sure she was finery incarnate.” He admired the engraving in the light. “This is fine work. German, am I right?”

“Why...yes...yes, it is.” You stammered, surprised he’d been able to guess it. “How did you know?”

He underlined a mark on the back of the timepiece. “This here is a genuine Kienzle piece. I’d say it was somewhere...eh...probably ‘roundabout 1910 or so. Good work lasts a long time.” He handed it back to you. “My old man collected clocks, watches, and timepieces of all types. Some would say this-” He tapped the engraving with a ragged fingernail. “-is profaning the value of the piece, but I’d say the sentiment is worth more than a dusty antiquer’s opinion, eh?”

He gave you back the watch, his eyes lingering on your neck and dipping lower as you tucked it away. “You seem quite worldly, Mr. Tagli-...I mean, Jacopo. Have you been many places?”

“Why, yes.” He rested his arm across the couch’s backrest. “France, England, Denmark...I’ve even done some trophy-hunting in Africa over the years.” He brushed a thumb over your shoulder. It made your stomach turn over, but you pretended not to notice the greasy move. “There was a trip I made a few months back...I brought back the most marvelous bit of tusk, but I wasn’t quite sure of what to do with it. I’m afraid it’s been gathering dust.” Boldly, he decided to outright caress your upper arm and you could have sworn you heard a low, warning growl from across the room. Don Taglioni must have heard it as well because his head shot up as he scanned the room for the source.

You were sure your heart nearly stopped, but Red was already gone and the don appeared to dismiss it after a moment. “As I was saying, I wasn’t sure what to do with it, however, I believe I now have an idea. I will have it ready by your next performance.”

“Oh, that’s entirely unnecessary, I-” Your protests were interrupted when one of the triggermen leaned down to mumble something unintelligible into the don’s ear.

Taglioni’s face darkened once more. He stood abruptly, took your hand apologetically, and helped you to your feet. “My deepest apologies, my dear, but I must be off. Urgent business calls, I’m sure you understand.” He lifted his bowler hat to you. “And I will hear no protests over gifts! I can certainly afford it. Good evening, it was a pleasure to have finally made your acquaintance.” He took up his drink, downing it all at once, and departed with his entourage. You swore you didn’t take another breath until he’d left.

Placing a hand over your breast, you glanced up at Grillby. “That went so much better than I anticipated.”

He silently offered his arm to support you on your walk back to Boss’ office. You wobbled, legs as weak as half-set jello, through the door. For a moment, you remained composed, but then you saw Red. “I need...could you…” You swallowed back bile. Despite the don’s apparent gentility, there was a certain, unexplainable aura he carried that made you want to scrub yourself pink. “Shower...please.”

“Did he drink it?” Red’s grip on your shoulders was the only thing keeping you on your feet right now, even as he warped the both of you down to your apartment.

You nodded, hands cupped over your mouth. It was the consummate stress, a wretched wrecker of stomachs, which had made you sick. He walked you straight into the bathroom, observing uneasily as you gagged over the toilet. Nothing came up, but you spat anyway and brushed your teeth as thoroughly as possible. “S-sorry...I...I just...he…” An uncontrollable shudder rolled through your body.

“It’s the LV.” Red informed you, his tone completely flat. “Man’s got a higher LV than anyone I ever met in my fuckin’ life. Humans ain’t as sensitive t’ it, but it’s chillin’ as fuck. He’s stone-cold, baby, I warned ya.” He curled his arms around you from behind, resting his head atop yours.

“It’s so strange...he was almost charming…” You leaned heavily into his embrace to sap as much comfort from it as possible.

“Ain’t they always?” He scoffed into your hair. “He guzzled that shit down, though, right?”

“That reminds me, asshole.” You huffed out of frustration. “You  _ forgot _ to tell me which left! I could’ve drank the wrong one if he hadn’t let me skip out on it!”

“Uh...sorry ‘bout that.”

He sounded genuinely apologetic, so you let it go with a sigh. “He drank the one on my left. Was that the right one?”

“He drank the one on the right?” He asked, somewhat confused.

“No, the one  _ on my left _ . I was asking if that was the right one.”

“...So, he left the right one and drank the left one?”

You pinched your nose. “Great, now  _I’m_ confused.” You shook your head. “He drank one of them, anyway.”

He pulled down the collar of your poet shirt, kissing down the length of your neck and shoulder as he peeled away your clothes. Behind you both, there was a pop and you realized he’d magically turned on the shower tap. “Don’t matter.” He grunted, yanking your skirt down. “One drink ain’t gonna kill ‘im, but the important thing is he’s got an eye for ya now.”

“He wants to give me something, I think.” You stepped out of the puddle of clothes he’d made on the floor and turned to see him doing the same for himself.

“Somethin’ other than what’s between ‘is legs? That’s a first. Skintag don’t do gifts.” Red was clearly impressed. “Damn yer good, sweetcheeks, but...heh...I already knew that.” He grinned at you before stealing a kiss. “Now let get that sonuva bitch’s reek offa ya, eh?”


	19. Hot Water

His shirt was untucked and unbuttoned, while his suit jacket and tie had already been abandoned and thrown back onto the floor of the living room. The sight of his thick ribs caught your immediate interest, but also had you confused. “Uh...what’re you doing?”

 

He shrugged out of his shirt, which fell to the floor atop your own clothes, and grimaced. “Don’t like the way that fucker’s stench is hangin’ offa ya, sweetcheeks.” His hands were at his belt now, and he didn’t seem to be kidding at all. He was all business, plain and simple, and you knew there wouldn’t be any going back this time around. “Getchya ass in that shower.”

  
You nodded, obeying without further questioning. He’d turned the water to scalding, but you could still feel the don’s mouth against your hand and that alone gave you cause to be thankful for the cleansing burn. Movement behind you caught your attention, but you didn’t turn around. The water trickled in heated trails down your neck...except it _wasn’t_ the water. It was a mouth, a mouth with sharp teeth that promised to break your skin if you moved but a single inch. It was _his_ mouth, and you were as glad for it as you’d been for the shower. “Oh... _Red_ .” 

  
His response was a growl, low and soft, in the back of his throat. One hand came up to curl itself in your hair, while the other tickled the flesh of your hip. As you watched, your bottle of body wash was encapsulated in a scarlet glow, which upended itself onto a sea sponge loofah. “What...what did he do to make you hate him so much?” You stammered out your question; anything to keep your knees from buckling. 

  
His mouth released your neck and shoulder for a moment, his breath somehow even hotter than the water. “Ya don’t really want an answer t’ that, now do ya?” The loofah pressed against your lower stomach. It worked over your skin tortuously slowly. 

  
“It might help to know my enemy.” You gasped a little, and then shivered as the loofa snaked its way up to the edges of your breasts. 

  
“He ain’t _your_ enemy.” Red corrected. “Fucker can sniff out a lie better ‘n I can.” He pulled your hair gently to the side so the loofah could creep over your shoulder and down your back. “Ah, c’mon doll-” You felt, as well as heard, a rumbling chuckle when he sensed your apprehension. “-you of all people should know ‘bout _method acting_ , eh? If I go tellin’ ya what he’s done, that’ll show. Ya don’t think it will, but he’ll notice. It’ll be like blood in the water t’ a fuckin’ shark.” 

  
He tugged back on your hair as the loofah caressed your ass. His mouth was at your ear now, and his breath was as heavy as an furious bull. “An’ I plan on bein’ the _only_ one eatin’ yer pretty little ass, sweetheart.” 

  
You breath froze in your chest, and the loofah chose that moment to dip between your ass cheeks before sliding down each leg. The water washed the soap from your skin, but you had a feeling this was far from over. 

  
And you were proved quite right when he suddenly crushed you hard against the shower tile. “Fuckin’ tease.” He snarled in your ear. “I dunno how long I think I can keep mahself from tearin’ into ya.” 

  
He was grinding himself against the cushion of your ass, while his claws made a horrendous screech as they dug into the caulking around the tile. There was a sharp snap as one of the tile’s cracked under the force. “H-how...am...am _I_ the one being a tease?” You retorted cheekily. 

  
He bucked against you hard enough to knock the air from your lungs, which left you gasping and slightly suffocating in the humid shower stall. “Just you bein’ _you_ is the worst fuckin’ tease. I hafta stand by, act like I _don’t_ want rip that stars’ damned dress off yer body an’ fuck ya on a goddamn poker table, while _he_ gets t’ act like he’s got ya in his bed already!” His teeth gnashed together, and all of a sudden, he’d managed to spin you around again. 

  
“I’m not a darn spintop, Red!” You protested...for all of half a second before he was kissing you. You melted into him, arms looping around his neck for support, and instinctively pressed your body to his. Faintly, you heard the shower knobs squeak and the water stopped, but he continued to hold you against the chilly tile. He was kissing the life and breath out of you. It was rough, and ruthless, but you could feel something underlying all of that. 

  
He yanked himself back, his typical lazy grin turned into one fueled by lust. You were satisfied to see he was panting, too. “I-” 

  
A towel was suddenly wrapping you into a bundle, which he promptly scooped up and walked straight through a warp into your bedroom. It didn’t seem to matter to him that your bed hadn’t been that far away. Water dripped off of his shoulders onto the floor and left a trail straight to your bedside, where you were unceremoniously tossed. 

  
The edges of the towel fell open like petals of a newly bloomed rose, and he landed on you like a bee seeking pollen. His ectobody flowed evenly over his cracked, scarred bones, and his sockets leaked scarlet smoke. “Whassamatter, doll? You were tradin’ cracks with me b’fore…” He laughed, although it was anything but mirthful. It was dark, and spoke of sinful things. “Is it the scars?” 

  
Your words caught in your throat, but you managed to shake your head. You were trying hard to keep your eyes from dipping lower than his broad shoulders, yet they kept drifting and your gaze finally landed between his legs. “Oh god…” Was this _finally_ going to happen?! 

  
“God ain’t got nuthin’ t’ do with it, sweetcheeks.” Your eyes flicked back up to his, and he winked. 

  
With no warning, he snagged one of your knees and pinned it to the bed. You were quite flexible, something he’d apparently been counting on, due to so many years spent training your body for the stage. Spread as you were for him, you felt vulnerable. You turned your head to the side. In a surprisingly gentle move, he cupped your cheek to firmly turn you back to face him. “You look me in the eye when I fuck ya, understand?” 

  
“It...will...are you…” You glanced down nervously. It was supposed to hurt, and, despite how fearless you’d been in the past, you were suddenly feeling anxious. 

  
“It don’t hafta hurt too bad, sugar.” He cooed to you. “Relax a bit for me. When have I ever hurtchya?” He kissed the dip of your collarbone sweetly. “I couldn’t hurt mah baby, you know that.” 

  
“Your-” His mouth moved down your chest to capture a nipple between his teeth, and you arched up against him from the shock. 

  
“Yeah, _mine_ .” He growled, although it was muffled by the mouthful of your breast he’d taken. The possessive snarl tugged at your unraveling sanity, and made a boiling heat seep between your legs. 

  
Questing fingers slipped between the folds of your pussy and idly stroked. The tips of his phalanges were mercilessly keen, but he was careful as he circled your entrance. A single, thick digit was enough to fill you for now. Yet, he didn’t immediately plunge inside like some reckless newbie diver; he pressed against the membrane just inside. It was good, yet slightly painful, almost like the pleasure-pain of a tooth working its way through the gum. 

  
You forced your head back on the pillow, whilst your hips jerked upward of their own accord. More was all you wanted, more was all you could _dream of_ , and a pleading whimper left your lips. All fear was thrown out of the bar by lust and need. You held yourself to him as tightly as you could, and prayed he’d give up on being good for once. You desired the devil you knew he could be. 

  
Gradually, he opened you up to squeeze in a second, and then a third, finger. He curled them up sharply, searching for something, as a pleased smirk overtook his face. “That’s right, sweetheart-” He purred. “-stay calm. I ain’t gonna do anythin’ ya don’t beg me t’ do.” He treated you like a scared kitten; petting and cooing soothing words to warm you up to him. “Damn, yer a fuckin’ lake down here, babygirl.” He withdrew his fingers for a moment to show you his soaked hand. It was tinged pink with a bit of blood, but that didn’t seem to deter him at all. He licked his own hand clean, eye lights zeroed in on you the entire time. 

  
You squirmed under him, and your hands danced across his shoulders as you attempted to get some kind of leverage. He was going too slow! How could he have gone from untamed beast to teddy bear like the flip of a coin? The ache between your legs was making your head begin to spin. After a few seconds of trying to maneuver yourself, you huffed and let your head fall back on the pillow. It was no use; he had you stuck right where he wanted you and he was going to tease you right over the cliff of sanity. 

  
He grinned irksomely down at you. Was he _trying_ to tease you to death? “Aww, so fuckin’ cute.” He nuzzled your cheek with his own. “You hungry for cock, sweetheart?” He slammed his hands into the pillows on either side of your head. He rocked his hips forward enough to slide his length along your pussy, but didn’t make a move to do anything more. 

  
For a moment, you saw something soften in his expression. It was fleeting, and it was gone before you could determine precisely what it was. “Damn…” The curse was whispered reverently, and then his eye lights blew out and his grin was twisted by voracious desire. 

  
“Buckle up, starshine.” 

  
The muscles within you twitched at the intrusion, and your fingers dug at his bones as you fought against the urge to buck your hips. Heat, passion burning hot enough to feel cold, blazed through your body like a wildfire. Thoughts grew hazy and fogged the moment you could feel him, every single _inch_ of him, stretch you wide enough to sting. And it did sting, but only a little. Otherwise, it was utter perfection. 

  
The culmination of months of stress had somehow washed away with one shower, right down the drain with a trickle of virgin’s blood. He took his time, as much as he could, until you were practically in tears crying out for more. Your heart was beating hard enough to rival the drummer at a heavy metal concert, and your breath...your breath hardly came at all. The world rocked and rolled, and somehow the only thing that seemed certain was the cock ramming you so hard that your body was inching up the bed. The solely stable thing was his mouth forcing yours open and his tongue tangling with yours. He was the _only_ real thing, and the pleasure he gave you was the sole truth of the world. 

  
He feasted on your flesh like it was fine dining, and his teeth would leave marks you wished he wouldn’t have to heal. In turn, you called his name until your throat was raw and your voice was hoarse. How would you sing tomorrow if you didn’t have a voice? But if you screamed yourself mute tonight, you couldn’t find the will to regret it. He fucked you as if your pussy gave him a reason to live. Sanguine drops of sweat beaded up on his skull, evaporating as they hit the pillow, and his bones were slicked with your own. 

  
Every other moment, he was twisting for a new angle, one that made you scream that perfectly high-pitched ecstatic note. “C’mon…sugar, please…” He growled out his pleas as if he weren’t begging, and yet he was. Looking into his eyes, you knew he needed you to come as badly as he wanted his own release. “Been waitin’ forever t’ see this...heh, cum for me, sweetheart.” 

  
He circled your clit roughly, all pretenses of gentle treatment gone, and it hurt in a way that made your body scream for more. Your mouth moved, though words were long lost, and he cradled your head in a way that was nearly loving. It was that simple gesture which pushed you over in his arms, and you choked on his name as your body quaked. 

  
“There ya fuckin’ go, sweetness!” He snarled into your ear, his tone at once both victorious and self-satisfied. He powered into you hard enough to force the aftershocks into something akin to mini-orgasms in and of themselves. It left you weak, warm, and only capable of shuddering through the onslaught. 

  
He grabbed your hips to force himself as deep as he could be, and held himself there when he met his own end with a roar. He could have been a lion in a previous life, you thought in a moment of fuzzy contemplation, it would have suited him. Warmth poured down your legs to add to the mess the pair of you had made, but he made no move to remove himself. Instead, he stared at you like he’d witnessed a miracle performed. “Stars, yer fuckin’ beautiful.” He croaked, placing a kiss on your forehead before rolling off. 

  
He tucked you up against his chest. You stayed silent, unsure if speaking would break the fantasy of what had happened. “I want...I want ya t’ stay.” His hold on you tightened as if he were afraid you were going to leave that moment. “Don’t go runnin’ off t’ Broadway.” 

  
You half-laughed, half-gasped for breath. “You want me to be your leading lady forever?” 

  
He snorted and rolled his eye lights, but he was grinning. “Somethin’ like that. Whaddya say?”

  
“I say _yes_.” You murmured before pulling him closer for another kiss.


	20. Luck's My Lady

Red scowled at his feet as he attempted to follow your instructions. He tried the little heel spin you were trying to teach him for what had to be the fifth time, but only ended up stumbling off-balance. “Stars fuckin’ damnit!”

“You’ll get it eventually, love.” For several hours now, the two of you had been practicing for your next performance. He’d convinced the don to return with the promise of the opportunity to spend some private time with you. Despite your misgivings about it, you’d agreed. 

But this meant, of course, that once again the show would need to be over the top. It had taken you days to come up with the choreography for it, and even then you hadn’t come across a proper song. Yesterday, though, you’d heard the most  _ perfect _ one while listening to the radio. It was an upbeat cover of an absolute classic -one that oddly fit so well for something you’d just happened to stumble across.

He was still grumbling when he tried -and failed- yet again. The next time, though, you came up beside him to help him correctly position his feet. “It’s all about weight and balance.” You had to press your hand against his leg to assist while kneeling, only to look up and see him with a wide grin. “Oh, fuck you.” You huffed.

“Hopefully.” His grin only got wider. “So, you said before we gotta learn some lyrics. I’ll be needin’ those, sugar.”

You stepped back and motioned for him to attempt the spin again. “Once you get this last bit of the dance down, I’ll give you the song. Boss has put in for a payment to be made to the creators, and we can’t perform it until after they approve it. We have plenty of time to learn everything at a steady pace; besides, Alphys is still working on setting up the slots, lighting, effects, and whatnot.”

  
He smirked at you. “Heh, guess I have t’ up my game then.” With that, he did a perfect American Spin, clicking his heel behind his right foot, bending the ankle  _ just so _ , tapping the ball of his foot, and hopping a couple inches to the right with spot-on timing. “Huh, would ya look at that-” His shit-eating grin was accompanied by a devilish flash of his eye lights. “-got it down pat that time, didn’t I?”   
  
Realizing you’d been played, you rose to your feet with your hands on your hips. “If you wanted me on my knees, you could’ve just asked!” You shot him a flirtatious, yet somewhat admonishing look.

“Aw, but askin’ ain’t as fun.” He snickered, offering his hand to lead you into your own half of the spin.    
  
You revolved like a top under his arm, coming back with a small toe-to-heel touch and a tap, and then whipping around to face him. “You’re evil, you know that?” You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t wipe a matching smile from your face.   
  
He pulled you into the first steps of a sugar push. “Gotta admit… the hat does a decent job o’ hidin’ mah little red horns.” He shimmied his way back from you, chuckling the entire time. “Can’t ya just gimme the name o’ the song? No point in keepin’ it secret.”

“I want it to be surprise.” You pulled him back, wrapped your leg around his hip, and swung the other right over his head to land gracefully back on the balls of your feet. “Are you ready to work on a few of the stunt dancing, yet?” He claimed he was, and so you both moved on with the practice.

He was, as before, surprisingly great. He had the body strength to handle a lot of the lifts, slides, twists, and constant movement required, although he was definitely sweating buckets by the end. His margin of talent was accentuated by the effort. He’d utterly exceeded your expectations, and over the course of the next few weeks he could remarkably execute the entire routine. 

 

As you’d predicted, when Boss was finally able to get the public performance license from the agent of the cover artists, Red came into the rehearsal with the most dumbfounded expression. “Sinatra?”   
  
“You have the voice for it.” You shrugged. 

“Ya realize how many New Yorkers’re gonna wanna kick my boney ass if I fuck this up, right?” He waved the lyrics in the air with a touch of desperation.

You giggled. “Well, I guess you better not fuck it up then.”

He scoffed, but you could tell from the way his attention was intently focused on the page that he was excited. Despite all the grump and the gruff denials of his natural ability, he had shown genuine interest in all of this. It was honestly rather alluring… somehow, it was like you could see a glimpse into his soul every time he sang. 

“How about a few vocal warm-ups before we-”

The door to the casino burst open -or, rather was  _ kicked _ open- by Undyne. “Heya, punks. We’re here for the rehearsal!”

Trailing behind Undyne was Alphys. “Give me a moment to set up everything up, and then I’ll be back down.” She scurried across the room and up the stairs to the office to fiddle with her equipment. After a few moments, she spoke over the loudspeaker. “ **_I’m going to play a recording of just the music. The band is stuck in traffic right now, so they probably won’t make it for at least another half an hour._ ** ”   
  
You gave two thumbs up to show that everyone understood, and then turned to the incoming staff. You beamed at all of them, and commenced once Alphys had returned to the group. 

This was sure to be one of your best performances in quite a while…

 

It took only a week or so before you felt Deadluck was fully prepared for the show. You had to give all of the employees a huge amount of credit. With most of them having little or no background in the performing arts, they were making amazing contributions to all of the performances. The bunny servers were proving their enhanced grace and agility, Alphys never failed to be brilliant (if not oddly experimental at times), Undyne… um… did her best, and Buster was always on top of everything. It was wonderful to have everyone working together.

The only thing that put a damper on your pride and excitement was your unsupervised meeting with the don. It hung over your head, dropping closer and closer like a lowering guillotine until the simultaneously most dreaded and anticipated night of your career was finally upon you. This would mark the turning point for Red’s plan; it was a lot of pressure, but you knew you could handle it for his sake.

The don had arrived long before the show was to begin. He’d met with both Red and Boss in their office first thing. From the grim expression Red bore when the don had moved to his preferred seat, you could tell something about the conversation bothered him. However, he did cheer up as the casino’s lights shut down and guests were ushered in. Buster had them all lined up out of the way, showing them to the proper spots with a dim, red signal light.

A hush fell over the crowd as shadows rushed to take their places. Low muttering and the clattering of dice was heard from the cluster in the dark as they gathered around a Craps table. “Gimme the dice and gimme room!” Red growled into the darkness from the head of the table. “You’ll see me roll for a hundred G’s, but I gotta little more than dough ridin’ on this one.”

Trumpets rose as a spotlight slowly lightened the shadows until the figures were all cast in a contrast of harsh, sharp light and dusky wisps of darkness. Behind him, a waft of smoke blew in with a rush of seductively warm air. Red’s head bowed as Lady stepped behind him, a scarlet shadow with her hands resting lovingly on his shoulders. From beneath his fedora, his ruby eye lights shone as bright and hard as any gem. “ **They call you Lady Luck, but there is room for doubt.** ” 

  
Lady’s hands crept down his front, until he grabbed them and spun on his heel with an accusatory glare. “ **At times, you have a very un-ladylike way of running out!** ” He snatched the dice off the table, tossed them into the air and caught them as he half-sang, half-pleaded. “ **You’re on this date with me, and the pickings have been lush. And yet… before this evening is over you might give me the brush.** ”   
  
Lady caressed his face as she tried to pull away, yet he held her there to force her to listen. “ **You might forget your manners, you might refuse to stay.** ” Finally, she tugged herself free and disappeared back into her mysterious, scarlet cloud. He watched her leave with such irrefutable longing before turning to the table. “ **And so, all the best that I can do… heh…** ” He stared at the dice in his hand before carelessly tossing them over the shoulder to be fought over by the remaining gamblers. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as a sinister smile played along his starkly illuminated features. “ **... is pray!** ”

He paced the length between the tables and the slots with purpose in every step, truly leaning into the idea of finding his Lady. “ **Luck be a lady tonight! Luck be a lady tonight!** ” Far ahead of him, Lady pirouetted through satin clouds as if she were a creature, a succubus, without true physicality and as weightless as the smoke she wore in wreaths. “ **Luck, if you’ve ever been a lady to begin with, luck be a lady tonight!** ”

Behind him, the bunny servers were followed by blood-red, and goldenrod yellow pinpoints of light as they leaped atop the slots, spinning so fast that their golden, silk dresses were only blurs of brilliance.

“ **Luck let a gentleman see how nice a dame you can be.** ” Red reached out to catch her, but only managed to brush her fingertips before she sprang away between the Pachinko machines. He followed her at no hurried pace, his eye lights studying the servers dashing all around and above. “ **I know how you treated other guys you’ve been with. Luck be a lady with me!** ”

He saw her then, as she appeared in yet another glimmering puff of sinful miasma in the middle of a Baccarat table. He frowned, picked up his stride, and outright scowled as she stroked the shoulders of several of the gamblers there. “ **A lady doesn’t leave her escort. It isn’t fair!** **It isn’t nice!** ” He reached the table and ripped her hand from the other man’s with a possessive fury. “ **A lady doesn’t wander all over the room and blow on some other guy’s dice!** ” He grabbed the gambler by the front of his shirt, and lifted him a few inches off the ground. “ **So let’s keep the party polite!** ” He tossed him across the table, sending cards flying every which way, and spinning around to capture her before she flounced away once again.

“ **Never get out of my sight!** ” He tucked her hand securely over his arm. “ **Stick with me, baby, I’m the fella you came in with!** ” He led her into that tough American whirl, sending her off and letting her curl back into his arms as he dropped her into an elegant dip. “ **Luck be a lady!** ” He begged, his mouth only inches from her lips. “ **Luck be a lady! Luck be a lady tonight!** ”

“ **Luck be a lady tonight! Luck be a lady tonight!** ” The gamblers left their tables pleading in pursuit of Lady as she lifted her legs to Red’s hips, rolling backward with the momentum of the dip into a single cartwheel right out of his grasp. “ **Luck, if you’ve ever been a lady to begin with, Luck be a lady tonight!** ”

“ **Luck let a gentleman see how nice a dame you can be.** ” His words were echoed by the unfortunate wretches left in his wake. Like a nymph fleeing Apollo, Lady dashed through the rows of slot machines. Her fingers gently brushed the various levers and buttons, sending showers of coins to explode in a volcano of wealth. “ **I know how you’ve treated other guys you’ve been with. Luck be a lady with me!** ” Paying no mind to the pittance, he waded through the money all others dropped to their knees for. He knew what he wanted, and it was not a trifling in cents and dollars.

She backtracked through the maze, sliding her hands down the arms and waists of men as they scrambled to stuff their pockets with whatever they could glean from her passing. “ **A lady wouldn’t flirt with strangers. She’d have a heart! She’d have a soul!** ” He pulled her free of the growing muddle of nearly worthless coinage into a reverent lift. He sat her on a table to scoop up a handful of dice. He cupped her face, not truly paying much attention to the pieces in his loose fist. “ **A lady wouldn’t make little snake eyes at me when I’ve bet my life on this roll!** ” He let the dice fly, but didn’t bother to see how they landed because he realized she’d left him yet again.

She was caught in the grip of another, but unwillingly trapped. She struggled as she was dragged away. The utter rage was clear in Red’s eyes as he made a beeline for them. With barely more that a twitch of his wrist, her captor was flung into the pile of chump change. “ **So let’s keep this party polite!** ”

He whisked her away toward the stairs this time, twirling her, keeping her dazed with backward flips, and placing her hand securely in the bend of his arm. “ **Never get out of my sight!** ” He warned her solemnly. “ **Stick with me, baby, I’m the fella you came in with! Luck be a lady! Luck be a lady!** ”

Behind them, a swarm of gamblers approached. She glanced over his shoulder fearfully as she fought to make a decision. Their voices were ghosts of his, but only that and nothing near as powerful or passionate. “ **Luck be a lady! Luck be a lady!** ”

  
He dropped to one knee on the steps before her. “ **Luck be a lady! Luck be a lady! Luck be a lady tonight!** ” In a split second, she was in his arms and he broke out in an ecstatic grin even as the horde of gamblers now threatened to overtake them. In moments, a loud _fwoom_ went off and where they once stood there was nothing but glistening, sanguine whisps. “ **Hah!** ”

 

Not long after, you were gulping down what felt like a gallon of water all at once. The exertion never failed to make you thirstier than a fish. Alphys, Boss, and Red, too, were taking a breather. Red’s entire shirt was completely soaked, but his teeth were all on display in one of his giant, genuine smiles. “Good job out there, sweetcheeks. Knocked ‘em dead.”

“Hopefully, I’ll be able to knock  _ someone else _ dead.” You muttered under your breath as your gaze flicked toward the door. “Has Grillby served up Jacopo’s order yet?”

Red’s chuckle was black and cold. “He’s on his third drink.”

Boss sighed. “Try not to allow that gross, malignant  _ beast _ touch you in any way that makes you uncomfortable. We couldn’t live with ourselves if you were hurt.”

“Every touch from him is uncomfortable, sweetie.” You grimaced a bit at the memory of those thick fingers on your skin. “But I know what you mean, and don’t worry. I can handle myself.”

“I’ve g-got hidden cameras s-set up in the… um...I didn’t want to run the risk of…” Alphys stammered and restarted in a anxious effort to get her point across. “If he tries anything, we’ll know.”

“Yer a doll, Alphys.” Red squeezed the scientist’s shoulder briefly, his expression darkening. “I don’t care what the fuck happens, if he lays a hand on her, I’ll make sure those are the  _ first _ to go.”

You managed a small, grateful smile for him, and then took a deep breath to steel yourself for the unpleasantness to surely come. Your hand quaked as you reached for the knob. “Wish me luck...I’ll probably need it.”


	21. You Make Me Feel Like Dancing

He was waiting in private room, seated casual as could be on the couch with a martini in hand, but rose respectfully as soon as you walked in. It was separate from the rest of the lounge as it was typically reserved for the pit bosses as a sort of break room if they needed to get away from the action for a bit. You wouldn’t have been able to tell he was halfway through his third; there wasn’t even a blush to his cheeks yet, and you knew from the reek of it that it was quite a strong mix.

“How are you doing this evening?” His smile could have curdled milk. He gestured to the platter on the side table. “I’ve heard you like chocolate malts, so won’t you please join me?”

Lady spoke in your stead. “Thank you so much, darling. How ever did you find that out?” Her eyes went wide with convincing surprise. It would be better to play dumb with this one.

“I simply asked that bartender friend of yours. For a monster, he makes a decent dry martini, too.” He had to grip the stem of the delicate glass between only his first two fingers and thumb on account of how large they were. Those hands looked the kind that could easily wrap around a throat… in fact, you couldn’t know if they had or hadn’t done a bit of throttling on his way to becoming a don. It was a chilling thought.

“Yes, he’s a dear.” You took initiative by going around to sit at his side instead of waiting for an invitation this time. “I’ve been well. It feels as if there’s a bigger crowd with each new performance, and Buster informed me that there are many who attend two or three times with every new release.” You accepted the drink he handed you, although you were hesitant to ingest anything that had spent time in his presence. If he slipped you a Mickey, though, you felt sure the others watching the cameras would soon come to your rescue. “How are you?”

“You truly are an enterprising woman. Imagine, a lady with your degree of success in such a short time. Why, it’s almost storybook!” He chuckled, which then died down into a small grimace. “Typically, I’m not one to complain, but I’ve been having a bit of stomach trouble lately. I’m fairly certain it’s just an ulcer.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. Maybe you should see a doctor to be sure?” Inwardly, you thanked whatever gods may be listening. It seemed he _had_ drank the correct one last time. “I’d hate to see you in poor health.”

He sighed, placing a hand to his chest. “How kind of you to concern yourself with it, but it truly does feel like an ulcer. I’m sure it is fine. I’m healthy as a horse otherwise, no need to worry.”

 _Not for long, you greasy bastard,_ you smiled at him as that pleasant thought ran through your mind in a loop. “I have been told that strong spirits can affect the stomach. For my sake, would you perhaps consider giving it up temporarily?”

 “I’m afraid I’m a man of habit, but if it would soothe your little heart, you could certainly help me feel _so much better_ .” To your horror, he yanked you straight into his lap. You immediately froze and failed to hide your feelings behind Lady’s mask.

“Is this how you are off-stage?” You could have sworn you could see a hint of vile, perverse desire only barely veiled behind civility. “Shy… sweet… it makes one wonder if you’ve even had a man before.”

You felt the blood leave your face cold and pale. The shock his outlandish words instilled in you completely shattered Lady’s character. “I… I have…” You recalled Red’s warning from the other night, and prayed it was better to tell the truth than attempt a lie this early on.

  
He took hold of your chin gently. “You are an amazing actress, but a horrid liar.” For a single nightmarish second you were convinced he’d figured you out. Until, that is, his lips curled into a greedy grin. “No need to be ashamed.” He purred. “You couldn’t imagine how many men would _crave_ to corrupt such innocence.”  
  
All of a sudden, you were back with a leading advantage.Lady’s eyelids lowered, and by recalling some particularly inspiring moments in bed with Red she was able to summon a blush to her cheeks. “I don’t see why… I wouldn’t know anything about… about _it._ I’ve always thought men preferred women who had more experience.”

His fingers danced over your hips while he leered at you. “Nonsense, you would only need a willing teacher.”

It was so hard to force Lady to say the next words. They left a bilious taste on your tongue on the way out. “Are _you_ willing?”

He bent his head to speak into your ear. “More than.” His mouth hovered only millimeters from your skin, and your stomach revolted so strongly you were forced to gulp back the urge to vomit.

Lady slipped a single finger between his lips and hers before smirking herself. “Ah ah ah, handsome. Have you forgotten already? You said you’d have a present for me this time.”

“A working woman who drives a hard bargain…” He drew back to take a sip of his drink. “I like it. Very well, my dear.” He dipped his hand into his breast pocket. He opened his hand to offer a small, black box.

Inside was a small, beautifully carved ivory swallow. Its tail feathers curled up and around a delicate silver chain. If you didn’t know it was genuine ivory, that some poor animal had died for a trinket, or if it had been presented by literally any other person in the world, you might have truthfully thought it lovely. Instead, you almost immediately detested it; regardless of this, you clapped a hand over your mouth and drew on everything you had to bring tears to your eyes. “Oh, it’s _gorgeous_.” You clambered off his lap to turn around and moved your hair so he could put it on. The cruelly cold ivory rested just above your cleavage. “I’ll never take it off, thank you.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, gazing into those stony eyes with adoration.

“I think you could thank me another way.” His gaze zeroed in on your mouth like a slavering wolf pack stalking a deer.

Damn it, there was no way out of this now. Your mouth went dry, your palms grew clammy, and you couldn’t pry your eyes off the floor, but Lady...Lady could do this. She chewed at her lip, smiling with just the right amount of shyness, and leaned into his chest with a barely audible sigh. He bought Lady’s performance; his hand came up under her chin. For a moment, she thought she saw those black, shark-like eyes soften, but then his lips were on hers and all _your_ concentration went to managing your gag reflex.

It wasn’t anything like she expected; she’d anticipated a rough, uncaring intrusion of tongue and the bruising of lips. Instead, he hardly brushed Lady’s lips. His breath was warm as it stirred the hairs that had escaped her feathery headpiece. “I can’t say I’ve ever met a woman quite like you.” He confessed as he broke the kiss.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a man like _you_.” It was true; you’d never met a more repulsive creature. How many people had he killed to actually physically affect other humans? It staggered you to try to wrap your head around it.

You flinched as there was a sudden, incredibly loud _bang_ coming from the other side of the wall. You glanced toward it out of alarm. _What the heck?_   Jacopo’s hands automatically tightened around your waist for a few minutes. Only silence followed the obnoxious noise, but that was broken by an insistent beeping from his pocket. He took a look at the screen, sneered at it for a moment, and then let out an annoyed sigh

“I apologize, I must attend to something, but you can absolutely expect me at the next show.” He grabbed his hat from the rack. “My Consiglieres, Underboss, and Caporegimes have also expressed interest in attending. I hope you have something truly special brewing for us.” He beamed at you as he bent to kiss your hand.

“Are those your best men? I’d love to perform for them!” You chirped enthusiastically. Meanwhile, the gears were turning so fast in your head it was surprising your ears weren’t smoking.

“They are my most fiercely loyal men. Most of them are blood to me, and I’m sad to say they’ve expressed some amount of jealousy for keeping your talents to myself.” He let your hand fall with something akin to regret in his eyes, but then a wily gleam replaced it. “But who could blame me?”

You giggled. “Oh, stop!” _Seriously, stop._ “Trust me, you’ve already given me an idea.” You practically were alight with delight. This would _definitely_ help Red. “Could you ask them if they’d like to participate?”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “And what shall _I_ do during this performance?”

“You’re too important, my l-...” You purposely trailed off and averted your gaze. “I mean, you need rest. You shouldn’t be exerting yourself.”

“Very well, my lady nurse.” The Don lifted his hat to you with a proud smile. “But I insist on seeing that beautiful face of yours afterward. I find our conversations… thrilling.”

You held a giant, excited grin until the door had closed and heavy footsteps had long passed by. At that point, you collapsed on the couch. Every inch of you begged for a wash, and you had to wonder if this is how you’d always feel in the aftermath of his presence or if you’d eventually become used to it. That kiss in particular made you want to scrub out your mouth with antibacterial soap.

After you were sure he’d gone, you got up to head to the office. Upon getting there, you noticed there was a brand-new hole punched right through Red’s divider. It utterly shredded, and the plastic frame had been snapped. Papers, destroyed stress balls, and pieces of plastic littered the floor. Alphys was sweeping, and looked at you with a mildly frightened expression. “You… you might… I th-think you should talk to Red. He’s upset.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“To get a drink, I guess.” She shrugged helplessly. “Grillby’s usually the only who can talk him down when he’s like this.”

“Why is he-” Oh. Well, you supposed that made sense, but he _knew_ you were acting. He should’ve understood you didn’t want to do any of that. “Okay, I’ll go take care of it. Thank you for cleaning up.”

True enough, Red was hunched over the bar with his grip threatening to shatter a tumbler full of some type of alcohol. Whatever he was drinking, you could smell it from an entire foot away as you took a seat beside him. He gave you a side-eye glare before snarling into his cup and knocking back what remained. He slammed the glass back down, which Grillby immediately re-filled.

“Red, I’m-”

“Don’t.” He snapped back. “If ya say yer sorry, I’m gonna…” He growled at the amber liquid as if it had insulted him. “I’m gonna do somethin’ stupid. Just… don’t, ‘kay?” He sighed, pinching his nasal bridge. “You go clean up. I need t’ step out for some fuckin’ air.”

“We’re going to talk about this.” You told him firmly, but gave in because you felt the sincere need for that shower.

“ _Tch_ , right.” He finished the entire drink in one gulp, stalked off toward the back stairs as he dug through his pockets for a smoke.

With a frustrated, upset huff, you trudged back to your apartment. Under the scalding water everything fell away for a moment. The soreness in your muscles eased as you massaged and scrubbed yourself down. After you were done and re-dressed in a more comfortable outfit, you stalled for a few anxious minutes before finally heading back upstairs.

By the time you returned, he had, too, and Grillby had gone from the bar. Red was bent over one of the poker tables with his head down. He popped up as soon as you touched his shoulder. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, the only real victim in all of this was your office.”

“Still shouldn’t have done it.” He frowned harshly at the floor.

“Yeah, and it’s over with now.” You laid your hand over his. “The Don was a bit more preoccupied with hearing a little about the next show than kissing me again.”

Red was clearly astonished. “Already? Stars, yer like damn machine.”

“Listen-” You lowered your voice. “-I’ve got a plan.” Over the course of a few minutes, you explained a rough idea of what you had in mind.

Miraculously, his mood flipped like a coin. “Yer damn good, ya know that?” He kissed your forehead. “That’s fuckin’ _inspired_. Can’t wait t’ tell the others. When we gonna start practicin’?”

You laughed at his unexpected enthusiasm. “You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?”

He rolled his eye lights, but you could tell he was struggling against one of those remarkably charming, lopsided smiles. “Never thought it’d be much fun ‘fore you came along.” He scratched the back of his skull as a scarlet, magic stain spread over his cheekbones. “Guess ya just make me feel like dancin’.”

Something came over you then, a soft, sun-warmed ocean wave lapped at your heart. You held out your hand for him, and he took it, but not without question. “You said I make you feel like dancing. How about some practice?”

You led him through a few steps of the slow, three-beat Western Waltz. He made many mistakes, some of which gave you a few sore toes, but eventually he got it. “There you go…” You encouraged him softly. “I don’t care how many times I have to say this, but you’re a natural.”

“Maybe I should keep a look-out for Dirty Dancin’ 2: The Willy Waltz. Might need extras.”

You bust out into giggles, that slowly petered out when you noticed a tiny, goofy smile that was more real to you than anything else. It made you want to sing loud and proud, and what was a waltz without a little music, anyway? “ **You’ve got a cute way of talking, you got the better of me. Just snap your fingers and I’m walking like a dog hanging on your lead.** ”

“Ah, that’s just fuckin’ sappy now.”

But he still spun you out anyway. “ **I’m in a spin you know, shaking on a string you know!** ”

He did a twist of his own, but came right back to you like a yo-yo. “ **You make me feel like dancin’, I’m gonna dance the night away. You make me feel like dancin’, I feel like dancin’, dancin’, dance the night away. I feel like dancin’, dancin’...** ”

His hand on your hip traveled up and down whenever he got the chance, and put down his foot on taking the lead. With a change step, he completely reversed you, spun you out once again, and let the momentum drop you into a dip. You were dizzy, floating on nothing but air, and fighting back laughter. “ **Quarter to four in the morning, I ain’t feeling tired no, no, no, no, no.** ” You wrapped yourself back up, making a cocoon out of his arms, and leaned back into chest with a sigh. “ **Just hold me tight and leave on the light, ‘cause I don’t want to go home. You put a spell on me… I’m right where you want me to be.** ”

Unbeknownst to you both, far above in the high-rollers’ lounge there were quiet chuckles sounding not unlike the collapse of charred wood in a campfire. Violet flames crackled along his body as Grillby leaned on the railing to watch this impromptu show. What a sickeningly cute couple of lovebirds...

“ **You make feel like dancin’, I’m gonna dance the night away! You make me feel like dancin’, I’m gonna dance the night away!** ” You two revolved in a tight, intimate square, and you only had to tip your head back to enjoy this mysterious, light-headed ecstasy that filled you to overflowing.

“Do you hear it?” You grinned at him as you pulled yourself in close to steal a kiss.

“Hear what?”

“The _music_.” The notes on the guitar, the soft tap on drums, the electric strum of a keyboard… it played on and on in your head until it was as much a part of reality as his hands on your shoulder and waist.

He cocked his head to the side, listening hard. “Yeah...yeah, damn, I think I do.”

“ **You make me feel like dancin’, I feel like dancin’, dancin’, dance the night away. I feel like dancin’, dancin’, dance the night away. I feel like dancin’, dancin’, dance the night away. I feel like dancin’...dancin’...** ”

Grillby adjusted his glasses as he heard soft footfalls come up behind him. He turned to shoot Alphys a smirk and jerked his head in the direction of the couple below. “ **Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo, doo-doo~...** ” He sang under his breath, while Alphys could barely contain herself. The only outlet she had was to sing along with him.

Neither of you noticed you’d attracted a small audience, and you were too caught in the moment to care anyway. “ **And if you’ll let me stay, we’ll dance our lives away.** ” Red held you close now, and the proper waltz had degraded into a simple, rocking step. “ **Ya make me feel like dancin’, I wanna dance mah life away. Ya make me feel like dancin’, I wanna dance mah life away.** ” His singing had died to a mumble. “ **Ya make me feel like dancin’, I wanna dance mah life away. Ya make me feel like dancin’, dancin’, I’m gonna dance mah life away.** ”

You didn’t want to pull away now, not for a second. “Getting better every time.” You teased, yanking lightly on his tie.

He quirked a brow at you. “Riiight… so, your bed or mine?”

Grillby continued to watch until Red had dragged you through a warp to...well, he had a pretty good guess where. He shook his head as he made his way back to finish closing down the bar. “That’s a slow fucking burn if I ever saw one.”


	22. Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to warn you all that this chapter contains A LOT of gore, explicitly described violence, and irreverent vulgarity. If you're sensitive to any of that, I would suggest reading the end notes to get a grasp on the plot points this chapter touches on.

Along with your talents in music and theatre, you’d had to quickly learn the subtle art of effects, make-up, and latex prosthetics. Now, after having personally painted Brian Murphy and his collegues’ necks with layers of quickly drying latex and setting up blood packets only hours before, you felt the claws of doubt digging at your mind. 

If anything went wrong, the cost would be the lives of all your friends. It was a weighty thought, but you kept up a carefree face for everyone else’s ease. They’d placed a great deal of trust in your confidence, and if they thought for a second you were nervous or unsure, the odds of failure would rise. But you were Lady Luck, and this would be your most terrifying, death-defying stunt yet.

Boss’s knuckles on your door knocked you out of your thoughts. You welcomed him inside, and noted how he was fussing with his gloves. He was troubled, though he was doing his best to conceal it. You were too familiar with his tells; there was hardly anything he could keep from you these days. “It will be fine.” You assured him with a self-assured smile.

“You go on in five minutes.” He replied stiffly as he escorted you through the hall to the meeting room. “We have the security cameras facing the dressing rooms, and our masked marauder is waiting for his cue. Shall we give the signal?” You nodded, and so his finger briefly tapped a button on a remote hanging from his belt.

_ The game is on _ , now you simply had to play your cards right.You glanced at Red, who was dressed in his black tailcoat costume, and could read a mix of anticipation and glee in his eyes. This was his moment, his opportunity to unleash his wrath. “Break a leg, baby.” He tossed a smoke bomb your way, opened a warp, and watched silently as you were slowly engulfed by the shroud of powder and magic.

The regular audience had learned to cease their idle chatter the moment they saw so much as a wisp of scarlet. It was as deadly quiet as an abandoned mausoleum in a Louisiana swamp. When the music finally began, it was a long, romantic sigh from the accordion. “ **In a cafe on the Champs-Èlysées, I saw a girl the other day.** ” Light faded in and focused not on Lady, but on a lone bunny server in a frilly, purple cabaret number. Her back remained to the audience as Lady sang soulfully on. “ **I was beguiled ‘till I saw her smile…** ” She touched her arm and the monstress spun around with a crazed, gaping grin that dripped a foamy mix of blood and drool down her chin and neck. “ **It was a gash across her face!** ”

But Lady only smiled in spite of the horrified gasp from the audience, and threaded her arm through hers as the two of them high-kicked, back-tracked, and spun wildly across the floor. “ **Not long ago, she found that she was alone, so she wandered into a vaudeville show.** ” Lady shook her head sadly as she threw her stage-left into the waiting arms of a clown. She was dragged on her back through a curtain as a wave of carnival ‘freaks’’ came rushing out with Red in the lead. “ **She should have known it’d be bad! She saw the name that it had; The Straight Razor Cabaret!** ”

A gloriously curvy monstress in a tight, void-black dress sinuously slunk her way to the center-stage. “ **The first act was a stripper-** ” She tore the dress from her body, revolving like a irreverent ballerina damned to Hell. “ **-and the host looked like Jack the Ripper!** ”

Behind Lady, monsters with muddied, smudged face paint swung in bearing chairs and tables. With snake-like smile, she curled one finger to lure in some of the unsuspecting gentlemen onto the smoke-hazed stage, and escorted each of them to seats. “ **But the audience was dreary, and so he cut them smiles from ear to ear!”**

Red grinned wickedly as the spotlight flashed off the thin blade in his hand. With a swish and slice that would have made Zorro proud, blood gushed down the table to clothe it in a sanguine waterfall. “ **He used a straight razor, ‘cause he’s a face *****, and there’s nothing he hates more than a stick in the mud!** ”

He twisted, revolved, and side-stepped until he could reach out and hook the stripper’s brazzier with his knife. It fell into pieces that she shrugged out of as she bared her breasts with pride. They laughed together, him splattered with gore, and her as naked as the day she was born. “ **If he tells a joke, you better laugh until you choke at the Straight Razor Cabaret!** ”

From stage right, Lady hauled another victim -Murphy himself-, who played at trying to hid his face behind a leather-bound Bible. “ **When I flew down to Camden town, I saw a man reading a bible.** ” She tore the book away and tossed it over her shoulder where the carnies proceeded to rip it to shreds. “ **I won’t in haste describe his face for I might be sued for libel!** ”

His mouth was ruined, gashed open like he’d been forced to try to eat a chainsaw blade. Lady grabbed his hand, spun and slung him toward an empty seat. “ **Not long ago, he found that he was alone, so he wandered into a vaudeville show.** ”

Red moved in on his prey, walk-walking his way as sneakily as he could. Murphy was dead with a gurgle and a splash of blood across her back. She turned on the spot, but only shrugged and giggled. “ **He should have known he’d be maimed when he discovered the name: The Straight Razor Cabaret!** ” Undyne and Alphys, both sporting beards glued to their chins, snatched up his arms and legs. Many bearded ladies did the same, twirling in place as they cleared the bodies in the midst of death throes.

  
You waved the unwitting Consiglieres in with a flirty smile and a wink. They took their seats, but snatched at your dress to try to paw or get in a grope, which Red was clearly not fond of. Red’s sockets sparked with hellish wrath. As much a part of the act as it was, there was some true anger there. You only plucked the edges of your sequined dress delicately out of their reach in a perfect soutenu turn. 

What followed next sent those watching into fits of raucous guffaws as a donkey clopped through the back curtain bearing the weight of the daring, naked stripper. She paid her dues to all the compass points in a precarious turn. “ **While the strumpet stroked a donkey, the host juggled five dead monkeys!** ”

Unlit torches sailed through the air to be caught, one by one, in Red’s waiting hands. He rolled a lighter across his thigh, struck them up, and tossed them in the air. The streaks of flame barely avoided coming down on the head of a passing unicyclist juggling a handful of dolls’ heads. “ **But the audience were snobs-** ” Red passed the torches smoothly into the cyclist’s collection before they peddled off-stage.

The razor gleamed, and soon its blood lust was sated by an arterial gush. “ **So he took a knife right to their gobs!** ” Splatters of viscera mixed with the sheen of perspiration, and Lady couldn’t be sure how much of it was real and how much was not. “ **He used a straight razor ‘cause he’s a face *****, and there’s nothing he hates more than a stick in the mud. If he does a trick, you better laugh until you’re sick at the Straight Razor Cabaret!** ”

One by one, the Caporigmes fell and no one was the wiser for it. A sea of blood trickled over the edges of the dais to splash on the floor, while Lady’s shoes kicked up tiny droplets that hit the splash shield protecting the audience. The cane in her hands moved as if it had a mind of its own and possessed by the bound spirits of the gangsters she’d danced right into the waiting arms of Death himself. “ **La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la** !”

She braced her cane in front of her knees, kicked up, and leaned left and right as if she were the sole morbid remainder of a Sweet Adelines Quartet.  “ **La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la** !”

The frantic, weakened squeaks of the accordion accompanied the pulsing heartbeat of the drum as the music hastened toward its own demise. Red caught the head of her cane, yanking her into a jerky, half-dip like the lap of a vampire bat’s tongue into a fresh wound. He spun her out, tucked her in, and tangled her up -all with a feral grin that was less acting and more vicious satisfaction.

She flung her legs up to his hips, and he took her for a ride as they frolicked through the thickening pool of his creation. “ **They call him straight razor ‘cause he’s a face *****, and there’s nothing he hates more than a stick in the mud!** ” The dead and dying littered the stage, only to be gradually cleared by clowns, a grubby person wearing only the head of a dirty Easter bunny costume, and gorgeous bunny servers-turned-strippers wearing only skirts of golden casino tokens. “ **If he pulls a gaffe, you bloody up and laugh! It’s the Straight Razor Cabaret!** ” Red dipped Lady as the last of them had scattered with one hand still clutching his bloodied razor. “ **It’s the Straight Razor Cabaret!** ” He smirked at her as he touched the flat of the blade just under her chin to turn her enraptured face toward the audience. “ **It’s the Strait Razor Cabaaaa-** ”

He flicked the razor closed with a flourish, flung it to the far edge of the stage, and pulled her out of the dip so fast the entire casino became nothing more than a golden, blood-smeared blur. “ **La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la!** ” The two of you touched palms, twirling now clockwise, then counterclockwise, locking arms and kicking the sins off your dirty shoes together.

“ **Everybody!** ” The carnies ran out in pairs to attach themselves to the growing cabaret line. They moved in tandem as the tempo grew even more harried; it was the dying, breathless gasps of musical scraps being sliced by time just as Red’s razor had sliced through throats. “ **La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la!** ”

“ **It’s the Straight Razor Cabaret!** ” The group bent at the waist, swing hands over heads to bow once, twice, three times in jerky, puppet-esque motions. A smoke bomb was crushed off-stage to hide the warp as Red, Lady, and the rest high-kicked themselves seemingly out of existence through a scarlet cloud. “ **It’s the Straight Razor Cabaret!** ”

The entire crew was jammed into the meeting room, which was where Red had chosen to open his warp up to beforehand. Servers immediately grabbed for their typical attire, while Undyne accompanied Alphys through yet another warp to the office in order to avoid the now thoroughly-hyped crowd. “First thing’s first.” The blood on Red’s face was beginning to dry and fall off in flecks to the table. “Everyone knows our story, right?”

“The original razor was fake. An unknown broke into the dressing rooms, stole that one and replaced it with a real one.” Grillby recited perfectly as the rest of them nodded. “We were all here, where there is no surveillance, but the culprit was caught on film by Alphys’ security cameras. Unfortunately…” He smiled as he polished his spectacles. “...he was wearing a mask, so we have no way of knowing who it was, but-”

“But you will suspect it was one of mine.” Asgore, who had been waiting here the entire time, stared impassively at them from the head of the table. “I have to give you credit.” He nodded his head at you with a cold look in his eyes. “This ruse was impeccably well-planned. Don Taglioni will be weakened severely by this loss. He holds very few of his men in true confidence, and we have toppled all his knights in one fell swoop.”

  
“Where is Swifty, by the way? He was supposed to be here to meet us after he changed.” You scanned the room as if expecting him to suddenly pop out of the woodwork with one of his charming quips.

Suddenly, Undyne burst back through the door. She was all but carrying Swifty, whose face was nearly concealed by a thick ooze of blood still leaking from a long gash across the top of his head. “We’ve got a problem.” Undyne’s good eye was scrunched with worried lines.

“I would believe that was obvious.” Asgore snapped at her with an impatient sneer. “What happened?”

“Agh...I do...I do not know.” His eyes were slightly glazed over and he wobbled as though drunk even when he was placed in a spare seat. “I was...I think I was outside the dressing room…” He blinked, but it did nothing to help his unfocused stare. “Fuck, my  _ head _ …” He happened to glance down in confusion. “ _ Merde!  _ Where are my clothes?!”

“My guess is someone knocked you out and stole them.” Undyne scowled as Alphys began to quake.

“If Swifty didn’t get to replace the razor...but the real one was still used...then who...?” You spoke in a fearful whisper as everyone fell into a tense silence.

“Somebody knew ‘bout the plan.” Red slammed his fist into the tabletop. “GOD DAMN IT!”

“We’ve got a rat.” Grillby stated with an eerily calm tone as his eyes swept through the many faces packed into the room. “But a helpful one, it would seem.”

“Why?”

Just then, the door creaked open and Boss walked in. He crossed his arms as he stared all of them down, his eyes landing on Swifty with an incalculable expression. “I pledged I would find a way to keep you safe.” He spoke to you, although his focus stayed Swifty. “And I found one.” He stepped out of the doorway, gesturing behind him. “I did some digging...as it turns out…”

A man, his black fedora pulled low over his eyes, stepped inside the room. His floor-length, ebony trench coat was open over a equally dark dress shirt, and trousers. He tossed a black toboggan onto the table. “Death certificates are easy to fake if you have the right connections.” His English was slightly accented, and his words sounded sad.

  
“No...no fuckin’ way…” Red’s eye lights shrunk to pinpricks.

The mystery man removed his hat, and two silver-dollar eyes stared out of an all-too-familiar face. “Hello, again, my old friend. I see you’ve taken good care of my brother while I was gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too Gory, Didn't Read:  
> Red and Lady have tricked the don's men into volunteering to participate in a particularly gruesome cabaret act. Think Sweeney Todd meets The Coney Island Circus Sideshow. They intend to play it off by blaming the deaths on a masked man who replaced the fake razor with a real one, and catch it on camera to prove to the don, while subtly implying the blame could lay on an attack by Asgore's gang.
> 
> Everything goes wrong, however, when Swifty, who was supposed to be the one to play the masked man, is found to have been knocked out. His role was usurped with Boss's assistance by a mysterious stranger, who is revealed to be his twin brother Alexandre -long thought to be dead in a shoot-out with Taglioni's men.


	23. The Kiss Off of Our Gumshoe Pally

Long after the initial shock had worn off, there was still a burning question on everyone’s minds. The staff left them to it, and were dismissed to their regular duties upstairs. Swifty’s clothes were returned to him and his brother took a seat at the table as they waited for him to change.

Alex folded his hands atop the desk. “You have questions.” He stated plainly.

“Fuck yeah, we do.” Red snarled back. He was too emotionally twisted up inside for him to decide between being furious over the deception or joyous one of his best friends was still alive. He and Swifty both deserved an explanation at the very least.

“Ah, _Rouge_ … I missed you, too.” Alex’s lips twitched at the edges, as if he were tempted to smile, but couldn’t bring himself to it. The intensity of his tarnished-silver gaze moved from Red to you. It felt as if you were suddenly an ant under a magnifying glass.

You averted your eyes submissively to your lap, and when you dared to peek again his attention was back on Red. “You have every right to be angry, but I could not endanger you or my brother with the truth.”

Swifty returned dressed to the nines in his silver-gray suit, and only then were you able to catch the subtle differences between the two. When they stood side by side, you could tell Swifty had a little more muscle than his twin. They also wore their hair very differently with Swifty sporting a low and slick Clark Gable with a side wave, while Alex’s was pasted to a shine and smoothed back with what was probably half a tin of Brilliantine. The only other way to tell them apart was their strange, pale eyes. Swifty’s shone like newly polished sterling silver, which contrasted with Alex’s tarnished, borderline steely stare.

“Ready to put the screws on me, I suppose?” Alex inquired softly as he stood up.

Swifty rubbed a hand over his face. “I only wanna know how you chiseled your way out of it.”

“You aren’t angry?” Alex appeared taken aback.

“I’m over the damn moon to have my brother again.” Swifty grinned at him. “This ain’t some half-baked melodrama, Dickie. You had your reasons for it, but if you _want_ me to put a meat hook in your mug for griefing us, I will.”

“Oh, so we are back to the nicknames, are we?” Alex chuckled. “Hm, you haven’t changed at all.”

Asgore chose this moment to interrupt. “I _apologize_ for breaking up this oh-so-touching family reunion, but I demand an explanation.”

“Put a cork in it, you overgrown goat.” Swifty dismissed him with a derisive snort. “Maybe you scare everyone else here, but you can’t sell me that two-bit act.” He glanced around the room, which had grown thick with tension. “What? Am I the only one here who knows this flimflamming fella’s only in this because he wants to make whoopee with his ex?”

Asgore growled as he approached the Frenchman with murder in his eyes, and bent to within an inch of Swifty’s smirking face. “ _I could flay you alive._ ”

Swifty only raised an eyebrow, completely unaffected.”Ah, but you _won’t_ because Tori adores me like a son, and _you_ are in the doghouse.”

“Don’t call her that.” Asgore snapped. His sharp teeth were bared in a bestial snarl, but there was something in the set of his shoulders that said he knew he was defeated.

“Oh, but she _asked_ me to, and I always oblige the ladies.” He replied smugly. He maintained cool, steady eye contact with the mob boss while leaning back in his chair. He rested one arm behind his head, propped his feet up on the table, and produced a cigarette from the case in his breast pocket. “ _Oui_ , all the ladies love their Swifty.”

Alex, who was looking amused, disturbed, and annoyed all at once by his twin’s dangerous taunting, muttered. “I should have stayed dead...I have been ‘alive’ for all of an hour and you are...agh... _Bernard James St. Clarence, tu me rends dingue!_ ” He pinched his nose in exasperation while Asgore stormed back to his corner to brood.

Swifty grinned at his brother with one eye cracked open. “We have more than a year of this to catch up on, Dickie. I must start now, if I ever hope to do so.” He was quite amused when Alex reached over to pluck the menthol cigarette from his lips, cracked open a case of his own, and replaced it with a toothpick. “I’m going to steal that back as soon as I get the chance, you know.”

It was Alex’s turn to smile a grinchy grin. “Not if I do this…” He took the cigarette, and ripped it half over the trash. He dusted his hands free of the tobacco dust and bits of filter before reclaiming his seat. “There, it is done.”

Swifty sighed with a mournful look at the can. “Oh well... _c’est la vie avec toi_ … you haven’t ceased working this ‘five minutes older’ angle I see.” He chewed thoughtfully at the toothpick. “Hmm, peppermint...lovely...nice to know you still keep these around.”

Alex failed to subdue a smile. “I couldn’t seem to bring myself to throw them away.” He gave a cursory glance around the room. “There’s a new face here. Aren’t you going to introduce me properly?”

Swifty pulled the toothpick from between his teeth to point at you. “This is my _Chérie_ , the most beautiful of nightingales, the most extraordinary of thespians, and our ticket to toppling a criminal empire.” He smiled at you. “Oh, and I also hear she makes great peppermint tea. Remind me to stop by for some of that later on, will you love?”

Alex approached you to place a kiss on your hand. “Forgive him, he’s more of a dick than I am. My name is-”

“-Dickie.” Swifty lifted his hat to shoot you a wink. “Call him Dickie.”

Alex closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a quiet, long-suffering sigh. “Alexandre, or Alex, if you’d prefer. I am-”

“-still a fucking dick.” Red caught a glare from Alex, but didn’t care. He had both of his best friends back. It felt just like old times, and, if all this went as planned, he’d never have to lose either of them again.

Alex shook his head. “I admit I deserved that one. In any case, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard many things, and nearly none of them bad.”

“Uh... h-hi.” You returned his pleasant smile. “Why did you take Swifty’s place?” You cast a hesitant, apprehensive eye toward Asgore, who was making impatient grumbles. It was probably best to get the conversation back on the original topic. You weren’t fond of being in the same room with that manipulative, hard-hearted monster for long.

“Not for any convoluted reason.” He shrugged. “I was afraid he might get caught planting the real razor.” He pulled a pocket watch from his breast pocket. “Speaking of which, it has been precisely an hour and ten minutes since your act ended. By now, I’d believe the don has realized his men were whacked.” He pinned you with a meaningful look. “You’ll want to go do damage control before he erupts.”

Here came the difficult part. The performance, the song, even becoming an accomplice to murder was easy, but being around that walking, talking rotten apple? That was always a trial of your sanity. It would be yet more harrowing now than before, as it would definitely look as though Red had set him up. Not only would you be working to save your lover’s life, but also to convince him there was a snake amongst his own men working for Asgore.

Alexandre and Swifty left with Boss to make sure they stayed well out of sight of Don Taglioni, Buster escorted Asgore into the crowd upstairs to make sure he was spotted on the scene, and Undyne, Alphys, and Red were getting ready to warp up to the office. Both ladies were through, but Red lingered behind. “You can do it, sugar.”

“Sometimes I feel like you put a bit too much faith in me.” You mumbled, hoping neither Alphys nor Undyne heard.

“‘Ey, stop that shit already.” He grabbed your shoulders. “How many times do I gotta tell ya how fuckin’ amazin’ you are, starshine? You got the don eatin’ outta the palm o’ yer little hand, an’ I ain’t never heard o’ him wantin’ more than one night with a woman before.” His eye lights flared. “But if this goes south, I’m gettin’ you outta here. We’ll skip town with Boss, Swifty, Alex an’ the rest. We’ll find some place nice ‘n cozy, set up another joint like this one, an’ you ‘n me could be…” He let his words hang in the air for a moment. “We’ll be Bonny ‘n Clyde. We’ll be lammin’ off wherever, but we’ll have that. You an’ me all the fuckin’ way, baby.”

“Bonny and Clyde died in a shootout.” You reminded him, but his words were still touching. Up until now, you hadn’t been entirely sure if this was only about the sex or if it was because you were friends. Maybe this could mean something more, and that was just as terrifying as the daunting task ahead of you today.

“Yeah... yeah, they did, but they did it together, didn’t they? Better dead than caught.” He pulled you close. “You an’ me… what we got right here? Damn it, sugar, I’d kill to keep it -to keep _you._ You gonna make me say the words? Do I gotta spell it out, write it in the fuckin’ sky, or buy a li’l ice an’ get down on one knee? I ain’t that kinda guy, but I’ll tell ya right now I think I could fall in love with a broad like you.”

“Red, you don’t want me like that. Not that way, not something permanent… how long would it be until I bored you? When you’re over _Lady Luck_? We’d both get hurt, and I can’t stand the thought of hurting you.”

“I don’t give half a fuck ‘bout the faces ya pull on. Fuckin’ hell, woman, I want you. I want you smilin’, I want you laughin’, singin’, jivin’, bent over my bed with your sexy ass in the air...I want you every way you’ll let me have ya.” He trapped your face between his hands.

It took you a moment. After enduring the complicated song and dance playing out between the two of you, it was hard not to feel relieved, yet also frightened. “If you’ll be my guy, I’ll be your moll, and we’ll paint the town together.”

“Sounds like the bee’s knees to me, beautiful.” He knotted his hands in your hair as he gave you a ruthless, knee-buckling kiss before smacking your butt to urge you through the warp. “Go feed that fish a line, sweetcheeks.”

 

Making your way to the private lounge where the don and his men were now huddled, you felt your stomach begin to working itself into a knot. You picked up the pace a bit, slid a terrified and devastated expression into place, and burst into the room. “Oh, gods, someone did something horrible-”

His triggermen’s hands went for the weapons at their sides, but the don didn’t need a weapon to strike fear into a person’s heart. “Would you like explain to me why my guards here went down to check on Murphy and the boys and found them stone-dead?” Those huge hands landed on your shoulders, squeezing hard enough to bruise.  
  
“I swear, I have no idea what happened. I was just in the office, and everybody was panicking.” You teared up and your bottom lip quivered convincingly. “They said something a-about...the razor, I think. You gotta believe me, I did the make-up and latex myself! It was...I can’t believe that was real blood...it was supposed to be food coloring and corn syrup! I think I’m gonna be sick.” You stared in horror at your hands and dress, all of it splattered with gore and blood, but when you looked back up...

You weren’t prepared to be backhanded in the face. Sure, you’d prepared yourself for a bit of rough handling, but...no. He knocked you hard enough in the mouth to cause you stumble back against the wall. “If I find out you or those monster cretins have anything to do with this, I’ll pluck off your wings, little ladybird.” He then shoved you into the arms of his personal guard.

Alphys was prepared, thank the gods, and had already set up the surveillance recording as a display on the monitor of Boss’s computer. When the don marched in, Undyne stepped in front of her protectively. “Sir, we can explain-”  
  
“Please do, then.” Taglioni’s voice was velvet soft and deadly.

“A-after the stagehands figured out something was wrong, they...um…” Alphys twisted her hands in her red lab coat. “...w-we...I...I tried to help, but there wasn’t anything we could do! Lady and Red were supposed to use a prop straight razor.” She stuck her shaking hand in her pocket to pull out a plastic handled prop that looked for all the world like the real thing, except the blade was utterly dull -it didn’t even have any semblance of an edge. “But that wouldn’t have been enough to cause any damage except to the latex and blood packets they were wearing, s-so I checked the cameras.”

“And?” He snapped.

“A-and…” She gulped as she reached over to press the play button. The monochromatic video showed normal goings-on; the servers in their costumes running back and forth behind the curtain, stagehands completing Alphys’s requests for maintenance passing through the rooms to get certain equipment, until the tape finally showed someone sneaking through the alley entrance. They searched the room, grabbed an object off a prop table, replace it with something else, then and scramble back the way they’d came. “S-someone switched the fake razor with a real one.”

“No one knows ‘bout these performances ‘cept the staff until we put them on.” Red’s face was completely cold, although his eye lights briefly landed on you to take in your split lip and bloody nose. “Usually, that is, but this time all your boys knew, too. We can account for where every single one of our people are, what they do and say -we got cameras all over the damn place. This clout woulda never made a clean sneak if they were one of ours. An’ if it ain’t one o’ us…” He trailed off as Alphys pulled up another recording.

“Look who we found lurking in the crowd.” Grainy footage it may have been, but there was no mistaking Asgore’s face amongst the many patrons. “He even signed the damn guest book at the front desk.”

The don was impassive, but you saw his eyes flicking over each of his guards. The paranoia would soon set in. He rubbed his jaw as he stared hard at the footage. “Ricci-” He turned to the nearest guard. “-go tell Marston to fetch the gats from the drop down in Bighorn.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jacopo tucked his arms behind his back and glared at the image of Asgore. “I don’t care who went peaching to Asgore. This is a violation of the treatise; by law of The Commission, I am entitled to retaliation.” A chilling, calculated smile crept over his face. “What a remarkable stroke of luck.”

“But, sir, you lost Murphy, and McCaffry, and-” His guard was silenced with a twitch of Jacopo’s brow.

“Murphy was growing lazy and complacent.” He snapped back. “And McCaffry was always so smoked he could barely walk a straight line. If anything, the stoolie did us a favor. Don Gore doesn’t have the numbers to handle a full frontal attack from us.” He turned his back to the security footage. “How cocky of him to show up to watch his handiwork play out. Wasn’t he ever told hubris is a mortal sin?”

To Red, the don said, “Give Murphy and the others a flophouse funeral. We don’t want the heat catching wind of this little stunt.” He narrowed his eyes at everyone else in the room. “The rest of you… attend to business as usual. I will set up a formal meeting tomorrow with the whole family to discuss how we will proceed.”

Then he reached for you, and frowned when you flinched back a little. “I will be borrowing Lady Luck for the rest of the evening.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and, with a surprisingly gentle hand, dabbed at the blood on your face. It was almost as if he hadn’t put it there in the first place.

Red glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll have Grillby mix up a few more drinks and send ‘em yer way.” He replied. His tone was clipped, and if you didn’t see the shimmer of blood-red smoke that drifted from his socket, you would’ve thought his cold demeanor to be genuine.

You were led back to the private room, whereupon he ordered his entourage out to the hall. Your face was starting to swell. You were half-soaked in gluey, drying blood as well, although very little was your own, and your mind couldn’t get a grasp the right words to say. In the reflection of a decorative mirror, Lady sadly stared back at you with a bruised cheek and thick lip.

He sat opposite you, his hand wrapped around the sweating glass of a Gin Rickey. “I should have believed you.” He said after a laden silence. “There was also no excuse to strike you.”

“You threatened to kill me.” The snippet of betrayal in there that was real; you hadn’t expected he’d do that. He was capable of awful, hideous things, to be sure, but… to do something like that to someone he allegedly _liked_?

“...Yes, yes I did.” He rubbed at his eyes wearily. “I am used to people attempting to wrest prestige from my hands. It would also not be the first time it was a woman who tried.”

“Is this supposed to be an apology?” You glared at him.

“No, I don’t believe an apology would fix things. I broke the trust I was trying to build between us, and I _am_ sorry, but I will not act as if simply feeling remorse for what I did deserves reward.” He lifted the glass to his lips with a resigned, regretful expression.

“At least tell me why.”

“I was…” He stared at the abstract painting above your head as he searched for the proper words. “...afraid. Afraid I would be seen as a fool for allowing my men to put themselves at risk for something frivolous. Afraid I’d allowed a weakness to be exploited...and afraid the person responsible was the woman I’ve come to deeply respect and admire in such a short time.”

This was confusing. Your head swirled as you tried to make sense of everything that he’d said and mulled over the implications. For once, you weren’t feeling that overwhelming, oily aura that Red claimed was this man’s LV - because Don Taglioni was just that… a man. He was a violent one, a cruel, insensitive, callous one, but still just a man at the end of the day. He was a man relying on an idea, a fantasy, a character, a reputation, as much as you were.

“I don’t… I don’t think I belong here.” These were not crocodile tears you were crying now. You rose to go for the door, but he urgently jumped to his feet to block your path.

“No.” He held up his hands, looking slightly pained as you jerked back on instinct. “Do not leave, I beg you.” His mouth shut tight as a trap, and he stepped a bit out of your way. “That is not an ‘or else’. It is a ‘please’.” He reached out for you, but kept a respectful distance. “I won’t touch you if you don’t wish me to. I’ve lost anything beyond common courtesy, I understand that, but I would sleep better tonight if you simply agreed to stay. It can be in silence even.”

You had the chance to go. You had the chance to flee into Red’s arms and chase the idea of the don as some incarnation of pure evil -the Sauron to your Aragorn- but reality wasn’t so monochrome as all that. Maybe this man deserved to die or maybe he didn’t; Red, too, had threatened to kill you almost immediately after declaring he was your friend. It seemed to be a laughably common theme in your current life.

You took his hand, the hand you’d dreaded to touch and the one you’d been sick over, and led him back to his seat. You chose to sit beside him as he sipped the Gin Rickey Grillby had prepared, and you felt something settle heavy and cold in your stomach. “You didn’t cry.” He said after a moment. “A lot of people who cross my path tend to cry...for attention...for money...because I put a mark on their man…” He looked at you curiously.

“You learn not to.” You said before you could stop the words. “Most of the time when people see pain they want to aggravate the wound, not heal it, and especially if they’re the one that caused it in the first place.”

“I don’t always take pleasure in the horror, you realize.” He finished his drink in one gulp, and pressed his fingers to his temples. “I have done terrible things, and some of them do haunt me, contrary to popular belief.” He confessed. “There was a man I knew of, not personally, but he was a clever one. He took down one of my laundry boys back in the day.”

“Laundry...boys?”

“You are so innocent, I always forget.” He smiled fondly. “Money laundering. A counterfeit money operation.” He got up for a moment to speak with one of his guards to order another drink. He stayed there for a minute, talking in a low voice, before returning to your side. “I liked his drive...his ambition...but he wouldn’t join the family. In fact, he seemed more determined than ever to destroy everything I’d built. I had to have him chilled off; it was a hard choice. I enjoyed playing the whole Moriarty-to-his-Sherlock game. I paid for that poor, smart bastard’s funeral, too. I called in some favors with a few charities, and got it in under ‘anonymous’.”

“You contribute to charities?” It was too ridiculous to be a lie, but it still made you somewhat suspicious.

“Not as many as I could afford, but I do when my demons get the better of me. Money isn’t going to keep me out of hell, but it does make the nights and lonely moments more comfortable.” He let his eyes close for a moment, and suddenly, you could see the bruises that encircled them, and how his heavy shoulders drooped.

“You believe in that?”

“Previously, no, but recently...” His smile turned grim. “I’ve come to the realization that, no matter how cruel the universe may be, if there are people like you, then there must be a heaven in some form or another. That means there must be a hell, and I am inclined to think I’m going to have an extended lease on the basement of the afterlife apartments.”

There was a sharp knock on the door that signaled the guard’s return, but he didn’t come back with only a single drink. There was another on the tray for you. “It doesn’t have any alcohol in it, not to worry.” He’d ordered himself a Sidecar this time, while you couldn’t be entirely sure what concoction he’d bought you.

“What is it?” It was in a hurricane glass, the types typically reserved for Piña Coladas, and was a deep, ruby red.

“I call it a Ladybird.” He gave it to you, but didn’t bother touching his own. “Grenadine, orange juice, a splash of club soda, and a few frozen blueberries for the pretty little spots.” He waited until you’d tasted it to have a sip of his own. It was wonderful, and strangely more touching than the expensive necklace he’d given you before.

“It’s fantastic.” You turned the glass this way and that to watch the blueberries bob with the bubbles of carbonation. It was heavenly, with just the right bite of citrus, and a measure of sweetness that wasn’t at all cloying.

“It was a humble attempt to capture a bit of you in a glass, but the bartender was, unfortunately, lacking in edible gold garnishes and cardamom. I could make you a proper one sometime, perhaps, if you’d humor me.” He didn’t say anything more, but you could tell he wished to.

“Edible gold… goodness, I’ve never heard of that.” You cocked your head to the side. It was an odd thought; he was rich enough to literally _eat gold_. A voice in your mind, one that sounded a lot like a certain grumpy skeleton, scoffed. _Does he wipe his ass with hundred dollar bills, too?_ But that wasn’t kind, and… you wanted to be kind. “Humor you how?”

“It wouldn’t be appropriate to ask, given my recent behavior.” The ice in his glass clinked together as he brought it to his lips again.  
  
“Well, that depends on me, doesn’t it?” You swirled the blueberries around to catch one with your next sip. Out of the corner of your eye, you could tell he was gazing at you, but when you looked up, he glanced away. “I’m not mad. Hurt, yes, but I understand the reaction. It sounds as if you’ve spent most of your life looking over your shoulder.”  
  
He remained oddly silent with that intensely agonized look in his black eyes that made them seem… more human. From this angle, you could see they weren’t completely black, either. They were merely an incredibly dark, black-coffee brown. One really had to study his face to see that detail. “I was hoping you’d accept an invitation to dinner at some point.”

You thought for a moment. There wasn’t any harm in having one meal with him, was there? The only reason to keep the meetings in the hotel was to make sure he drank Grillby’s concoctions regularly. He’d already had two that you knew of, therefore it should be fine. “Where would we go?”

He perked up like a wilting flower given water. “I’m not one for fanfare or pomp. A quiet dinner with me in my home would be all I ask.” He patted his stomach with a grin. “If you couldn’t tell, I am a decent cook.”  
  
“Could I have some time to change?” Your costume was crusty with blood, and it made you feel not only itchy, but utterly repulsive. Only a few months had gone by, and Lady’s poor outfit would already have to be replaced for a second time.

“You’d truly do me the honor tonight, then?”  
  
“Well, I suppose I have to let you make it up to me, don’t I?” You teased. You finished off your drink, and made for the door. “See you in thirty, handsome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys were thinking that Swifty and Dickie are the Pocket Aces' universe versions of my OCs Bucky and Ducky from Secretly Yours... you'd be very, very right. Swifty is Bucky's counterpart, Dickie is Ducky's alternate self.


	24. Stay with Me

As soon as you left the room, you headed straight for the office. Red was nowhere to be found, but Boss was there. He was bent over his desk typing away, and he was scowling at the screen. “Boss, I just want to let you know the don is having me over for dinner.”

He shot out of his seat, leaning over the divider as far as he dared. “You cannot be serious!” His grip bit into the plastic. “No, absolutely not! That is unacceptable! He is to meet with you here or not at all!”

“Think of it as an opportunity.” You put your hands on his shoulders to gently push him back over the divider, and then opened the sliding bit to properly get inside. “While I’m there, I can see if I can get any information out of him -things he wouldn’t be comfortable saying anywhere else.”

He growled and grabbed hold of your upper arms. “He  _ hit _ you.” Rare as it was, his own eye lights sparked and glowed blood orange like coals in his skull. “He did this-” He pointed to the triad of scars over his left socket. “-to me! How do you know he wouldn’t do something worse if he has you alone?”

“I don’t. I have literally no idea what he’s truly capable of, but I’m going to have dinner with him. We’re going to talk, and we need this. We  _ need _ this, Boss.” You leaned forward to wrap your arms around his ribs. “After losing his men here, he’s going to be vigilant. We have to get him to let his guard down. We have to pace our moves...like...like a dance. You know, one, two, three, and one, two, three-”

He rubbed his thumbs over your arms, refusing to look at you, and instead stared intently at the wall. “Then someone should tail the two of you to make  _ sure _ nothing goes wrong.”

“No.” You told him firmly. “I’m going, and I’m going alone...for Red’s sake…for you...for Swifty… for everyone here.”

You pulled away from Boss a little to see Red standing in the open doorway. He let the door shut behind him with a loud bang. He looked from Boss to you, and then to Boss again, as his face slowly transformed into something demonic in his rage. “NOT GONNA FUCKIN’ HAPPEN.”

“Red, baby, please, not so lou-”   
  
“I said no!” He bellowed back.   
  
Boss’s face was a mix of concern and alarm. “Sans. Lower. Your. Voice.” He hissed, pulling you behind him. “The walls are thick, not soundproof.”

Red’s mouth, nose, and sockets were puffing out smoke like a steam engine. It collected in a cloud above him, swirled at his feet, and half-coated him in a cloak of sanguine fog. His eye lights were torches stolen from the depths of hell, and blazed higher even as he ground his teeth together. He was furious beyond words now, and before Boss could react, Red had you clutched tight to him and was already warping out.

“Sans! Sa-” The warp closed off on Boss, and the two of you now stood in the middle of your living room.

You kept your cool, staring up at him until the firework flare of temper died and his expression fell. “You can’t be serious. Please tell me this is a joke, sweetheart. ‘Cuz if it is, it’s a fuckin’ awful joke, and I’m the king of bad jokes.” He swiped a hand under his hat, and turned away to collect himself.

“It isn’t a joke. I’m going with the don, he’s apparently going to cook me dinner and fix me a drink, and then I’ll come straight back.” The best way to ride out Red’s temper, you’d found, was to refuse to react in anything other than a calm, collected fashion. “I’ll be fine-”

“Oh, an’ I guess comin’ back t’ me with a bloody nose an’ busted lip is  _ fine _ in yer book, huh?” He huffed, but his anger was mostly overridden with worry by now. “An’ you don’t fuckin’ drink anyway.”

You could have laughed at the pettiness of that comment. “It’s not alcoholic.” He grumbled something back that sounded like a rude, petulant remark about the don’s mother and a pig, and had to stifle a chuckle. “Baby, I’ll be alright.”

“...Can’t know that for sure.” He bared his teeth in a fearsome snarl, but it wasn’t hard to see you were wearing him down.

“Well, I mean, you can always put a tracker on my phone or something.” 

His stance was still stiff, but the smoke had all but evaporated out of existence. “Got somethin’ better.” He took your hand, slid off the golden skull signet ring, and held it tight. With an electric crackle of magic, his fist was lit up by scarlet light for half a second. “If somethin’ happens, turn it a couple o’ times an’ it’ll take ya right t’ me. I used t’ use it if I was low on juice an’ got stuck somewhere on a job, but it’s more important that ya have it. Left it on low when I gave it to ya.”

You marveled at the ring. “It was yours? I thought you said it was part of the costume.”

“Well, it is now, ain’t it?”

He smirked to himself as he walked you to the shower. “Yer goin’ through these dresses pretty quick. Might need to have more than of ‘em made.” A ripping sound filled the air; he’d used the razor-edge of his phalange tore through the ruined outfit. The gloves, shoes, and everything else went in all directions as he tugged them off.

“An’ if yer gonna go spendin’ evenings with other men, I feel like I should get some kinda…  _ reassurance _ that I’m the only one who really  _ gets your blood pumpin’ _ .” The searing shower was already stained pinkish-red. The blood, both real and fake, was resaturated into a slimy, gunky mess that stunk of iron and sweat. It made bile rise to the back of your throat, but Red was seemingly fascinated by the churning, bloody water.

He looked up, grinning for all the world like a shark in chummed water. “Move over, starshine. I’m comin’ in.” When he finally settled in behind you, a weight lifted from your shoulders and you found your muscles were releasing tension you weren’t aware they were holding. “I ain’t into sharin’ much. Not one o’ my kinks, though...heh...there’s  _ a lot _ of those we’re gonna explore.”

His hands drifted over your back, gently scrubbing here and there wherever the blood was most stubborn.They traveled down, stopping to get a good squeeze on your ass, until he stopped at the back of your thighs. “What I am into-” His voice grew gravelly as his grip tightened. “-is you sittin’ through that dinner, smilin’, talkin’, and the whole time...your pussy’s still leakin’ mah cum. Ain’t that a pretty pi’cher, doll?” He pried your legs apart, and claws grazed over the softer skin of your inner thighs.

You seized up a little over the awkward position, but he didn’t do anything more...yet. “Red, I told him I’d be back in half an hour!”

He reached up to clamp a hand over your mouth. “You’ll go when I say ya can go. An’ I  _ ain’t _ gonna say ya can ‘til I put a load in yer sweet, little cunt.” There was an edge of anger in his voice. “Yer mine…  _ mine _ .” His fingertips bit into your flesh. “Wish I could just gut the bastard an’ be done with it.” 

A violent shiver wracked your body, and his laugh was an evil, seductive thing. Without warning, he twirled you around and grabbed a towel off the rack. He tugged you along through yet another warp right into bed, but not your bed. No, this one was messy, with unfamiliar black sheets and a thick, red comforter that was kicked halfway off. Somehow, every time he did this, he managed to make it so that he took the brunt of the fall, although it wasn’t much of a fall as it was a  _ poft _ onto the mattress.

He laid there for several seconds, smirking up at you with both eyes alive and sizzling with magic, until you realized you weren’t laying on  _ him _ as you should have fallen, but instead were being held just above him. Your eyes widened in mild fright, but his grin only grew wider. “‘S fine, sugar. I gotchya, ‘s just a li’l gravity magic, that’s all. Yer okay,  _ promise _ .”

“What are you-”

“I wanna dance, sweetheart, but I’m pretty zonked.” His sockets drifted until they were only boney slits through which merry candles burned away. He folded one arm behind his head, but reached up with the other to tuck a lock of damp hair behind your ear. He carefully coaxed your legs open, settled his hand on your hip, and guided you down. “So, yer gonna dance for me.” Once he had you where he wanted you, he let you go and your own weight made sure he didn’t have to do any work to be right where  _ he _ wanted to be.

“Feel good, sugar?” He murmured, his fingers started drumming a beat down your side, hip, and down your leg. “Makes ya wanna open up a li’l wider, don’t it? T’ get me in deep, an’ help ya do a li’l stretchin’?” He winked wolfishly. “Heard it helps t’ stretch ‘fore exercise. Sounds like a gimmick t’ me, but hey...heh, I’ve never been much into workouts.” He shrugged a little, still grinning his ass off.

Your entire face was redder than a tomato. “You’re impossible.”

“Oh, but ya love it, don’tchya?” He purred back. “Now, go on, sweetcheeks, move them hips or I’ma gonna get mad. Might have t’ punish ya a li’l. I think I got a few whips ‘round here somewhere…” He stroked the curve of your calf. “Maybe ya jus’ need a some music, huh?”

You found you were caring about the dinner less and less the more he kept on. “S-sure...let’s go with that.”

“‘Kay, stop me if ya heard this one.” He started to hum a little, in the way you’d shown him to get on-key. “ **When marimba rhythms start to play,  dance with me, make me sway. Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, hold me more~...** ” He moved your hips for you in a gentle, easy slide. “ **Like a flower bending in the breeze, bend with me, sway with ease. When we dance you have a way with me. Stay with me, sway with me~...** ” He bucked up a little from the bed to make music out of your gasps and moans.

You got your breath back, but only barely as you dipped down for a kiss. Your hair made a curtain around his skull that shut out the rest of the world. The song sang itself, using your lips, your voice, and your hips. “ **Other dancers may be on the floor, dear, but my eyes will see only you. Only you have that magic technique, when we sway I go weak~...** ” You lost yourself in the drum of flesh, in the clashing, cymbal of heartbeats, and the rhythm of pleasured sighs.

“ **I can hear the sound of violins long before it begins.** ” He swiped his tongue across your breast, and pinned your pelvis to his as he ground up hard. “ **Make me thrill as only you know how. Sway me smooth, sway me now~...** ”

“ **Other dancers may be on the floor, dear, but my eyes see only you.** ”He felt perfect rocking into you, both your bodies meeting and entangling in a dance synonymous with life and love. Could this be love, then? You’d played lovers, you’d sang of love, but never felt it. “ **Only you have that magic technique, when we sway I go weak~...** ” Love was truth in advertising at its finest, if this  _ was _ it. If it was this tender flame in your chest when you met his gaze, if it was the way he couldn’t ever seem to decide he’d had enough of touching you, and if it was in the knowing you’d found something you’d been chasing in books, plays and daydreams...then you loved him.

He rolled you onto your back with little effort, and words were sang between increasingly desperate, breathless kisses. “ **I can hear the sound of violins long before it begins. Make me thrill as only you know how.** ” His arms came up under your shoulders, and now he was the one crashing, spiralling, and being knocked about by the rogue waves of the music only you two could hear. “ **Sway me smooth, sway me now~...** ”

“ **When marimba rhythms start to play, dance with me, make me sway. Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, sway me more~...** ” Your fingers dug into the sheets, and your knees locked around his body. You choked on his next thrust because this didn’t feel like  _ just sex _ anymore. There was something else, you could feel it, and you knew  _ he  _ had to feel it.

“I...Red...I…” You couldn’t keep air in your lungs, so you could only hope he knew what you were trying to say.

“Yeah, I know, sweetness.” He panted into your ear. “Sugar, I... _ fuck, you feel amazin’… _ ” He snarled and sank his teeth into your shoulder until blood trickled down your skin. He lapped at the wound like a vampire bat, growling his own song into your flesh. “ **Like a flower bendin’ in the breeze, bend with me, sway with ease.  When we dance you have a way with me. Stay with me, sway with me~...** ”

“ **When marimba rhythms start to play, dance with me, make me sway.** ” Tears gathered in your eyes, and flowed down your throat as you tried to sing back -tried to make him  _ hear _ . “ **Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, sway me more~...** ” Your back arched as your muscles tensed, and pleasure sang backup as you let go of your final note.

His hands tangled themselves in your hair, the pair of you spinning, twirling, and waltzing on a mattress stage with a blanket curtain and a spotlight that was the moonlight creeping across the floor. “ **Like a flower bending in the breeze, bend with me, sway with ease. When we dance you have a way with me. Stay with me, sway with me!** ” He lurched forward, crushing you to his chest as if he were afraid you’d disappear into nothing like some sort of opium dream.

It took several minutes before either of you dared to break the spell by moving, but there were obligations to fulfill. After a quick warp back to your own room, you hastily threw on the nicest casual outfit you owned. He caught you by the wrist before you could go, and placed a kiss there. He didn’t have to say the words, but you knew. You weren’t sure how this all would end, but there was that, at the least. This was love, and the stories were true, and nothing could take that away without first carving it out of your soul.


	25. Chinning with the Big Cheese

The don met with you in the private room, and surprisingly didn’t question how long it had taken you to change. He escorted you out of the side door through the office to a waiting limousine. His guard made an attempt to open the door for him, but instead the don took hold of the handle in order to usher you inside first. A single guard followed the two of you into the back, while the rest sat in a different section of the stretch.

To say the limo was luxurious would have been a crass, uneducated understatement. The seats, which were divided into two rows facing each other,  were thickly padded and upholstered in kid leather dyed black as night. The divider between the driver and backseats was tinted red, and you could tell from the thickness of the glass it was meant to be soundproof...perhaps even bulletproof. At the end of both rows was an ice bucket with an unlabeled bottle of something the color of half-dried blood chilling amongst the cubes, and the side windows were protected by fanning, black-out screens. There was enough room inside for you, a slight-figured dame barely reaching five feet tall, to stand upright without worrying about so much as bending the feather on your headband.

You chose a seat near the end to be sure you’d be giving him plenty of room. Across from the two of you, the single-minded guard studied you with an impassive, meat-headed stare. It made you somewhat uneasy, and, if the don had been really pressing his LV as well (Could humans even do that consciously like monsters could? You weren’t entirely sure.), you felt sure the tension would’ve made you unbearably sick with an anxious stomach. You focused on your shoes; they were velveteen Mary Janes with teeny rhinestones across the bands Red had picked out for you on one of those many shopping trips he’d promised.

There was only silence, aside from the soft sound of the radio playing electroswing, to comfort you through the ride. The guard still acted as if he wanted to burn a hole into your face with the power of his staring, while Jacopo simply took out a small tablet to begin reading a digital book. You hadn’t brought your phone, and so you settled for trying to peek over his shoulder.

He flipped through ‘pages’ quite quickly, giving the impression he was a speed-reader. For someone who had such an overwhelming physical presence, he clearly had an impressive mental handle on things, too. “Voltaire.” He smiled at you apologetically for breaking the silence and making you flinch. “Have you ever read him?”

“Oh...uh...no.” Most of your reading had been extremely limited by the school’s and local public libraries. It was a small, poor town, so there wasn’t much variety even in the plays or classics they offered.

He tipped the tablet so you could see...only to find the entire page was in French. You furrowed your brow as you looked from the screen to him. It wasn’t often you felt particularly stupid, but that gnawing self-conscious feeling ate at you now. “You weren’t taught French?” He seemed genuinely surprised at this. “Latin then, perhaps?” And this time he was quite scandalized when you shook your head. “Well, surely you were taught Spanish at the very _least_. That’s quite important to know these days, regardless of if you are merely conversational at worst.”

“Um… it wasn’t like that.” You’d have to twist your story with a bit of truth. “My mother died when I was very young, and my father not long after. I was sent to live with my grandfather for a while, but he soon passed, and I was given up to the state. I was educated at a charity-funded girls’ school. We didn’t have much, especially when it came to...erm...books...or anything special like that. I’ve read a lot...just not stuff like...I’m pretty sure Voltaire was some kind of philosopher, right? Yeah, nothing like that.”

He studied you with a disapproving look. “What _were_ you taught?”

“Practical things, mostly; sewing, needlework, knitting, childcare, a bit of first-aid if we should ever consider going into the nursing field, and the basics of mathematics, history, science, and grammar. I did learn piano there, and the music teacher was very encouraging when I told her I enjoyed singing.” You remembered all of that with a bit of sweet nostalgia. Music had been a point of light in dark times when you were young.

“No offense meant, but that isn’t exactly what I’d consider ‘practical knowledge’ for a beautiful, modern woman. If you would like, I would be honored to give you access to my own library. I could hire a French tutor, and several of my housekeepers are bilingual in Spanish and English. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind being paid a bit extra for some lessons.”

He shut the tablet down and flipped the cover over the screen. He took notice of your confusion, although you tried to hide it. “Are you surprised the big, bad man enjoys a little reading now and then?”

“I wasn’t trying to be rude, I’m sorry.” You hastened to apologize. “You don’t need to do all of that, really.”

“It is perfectly alright. Rather understandable, if I’m honest with myself. I certainly look the part of a dim-witted brute, don’t I?” He was definitely a huge man, that much was for certain. He was built broad to begin with, and very little of it was actual fat. He had a bit of a beer belly, but that was pretty much it. The rest of it appeared to be very solid, very dangerous, muscle. Coupled with his heavy jaw, dark eyes, thick brows, and violent aura...well, it was just all very much leaning in the opposite direction of scholarly intellect.

You pursed your lips together thoughtfully as you took in his appearance. He was in a much more flattering suit today than that mortician-style black one. He’d chosen a light gray tweed suit paired with a purple ascot and white dress shirt. “You should wear purple or gray more often.” You finally said. “Black doesn’t suit you very well.”

He chuckled. “Fashion advice...hmm… I’ll take it into consideration. I do tend to wear a lot of black, I suppose. I feel it’s a stronger color as it commands attention.”

“You could command anyone’s attention just by stepping into the room.” You replied without a thought, but then immediately tried to backtrack before you realized he was laughing hard enough to choke.

He wiped a mirthful tear from the corner of his eye. “I believe that has to be the single most kind thing anyone has ever said to me.” He continued to muffle an errant snort here and there.

Far from sharing in the joke, that made you feel somewhat saddened. He was surrounded by supposedly loyal gunmen, allies, and employees, but no one in his entire life had said anything better to him than that? He wasn’t quite as awful as all that, was he? You hadn’t witnessed him abuse his men in any way other than the occasional snappish reply. He seemed generous enough in his handling of them.

You had little time to think on this before the divider was pulled back by a guard. “We’re pulling up now, sir.”

The don held up a hand to show he understood, and the divider was promptly slid shut. “My home is a bit out of the way -it makes for a much more beautiful and quiet life this way in my opinion.” The stop was so smooth, you barely noticed the transition from moving to parked. “I do want to warn you we’ll be more or less alone. I gave my housekeeper the day off earlier to attend to a personal matter. My men will be stationed outside in hourly rotation, so we shouldn’t be disturbed.”

It was remarkably chilly outside -not all that surprising since it was now early winter- and the grass was already crunchy with frost. You had to be careful with your footing to avoid sliding on any unseen patches of ice. Therefore, you had your eyes on the slick concrete of the driveway until you reached a single step and dared to look up.

The bite of winter drew blood to your cheeks while you stood perplexed by the sight now revealed to you. The don’s home was not the mansion you’d expected, nor even was it of peculiar size at all. It was large, granted, and it was very well taken care of in a way that oozed ‘wealth and status’, but oddly mundane for someone of such infamy. “Wow, it’s…”

He grinned as he reached by you to put his thumb up against the scanner of the lock. “Relatively small? Quaint? Yes and yes, but also strategic.” The security system disengaged after a short message played in a quiet, female voice. “A man like me with a mansion would be like wearing a giant, neon ‘SHOOT ME PLEASE, YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE’ sign.”

_Welcome...home...Jack._

“A nickname given by an old friend.” He clarified when he read the confusion in your eyes. “Not that I have many friends these days, of course, unless you count business acquaintances… and I frankly don’t. A word to the wise, my dear-” He touched the side of his nose conspiratorially as if he were about to impart a great secret. “-never trust a businessman of any sort. We’re all as crooked as a shepherd’s hook.”

“Aren’t I your friend?” You smirked back at him.

“You…” He gathered your hand in his to lead you inside. “...you are on an entirely different plane.”

Coming in from the tall, oaken door with its Tiffany glass windows, the pair of you stepped directly into a neat, opulent living room. The floor was polished cherry and accented by thick, shaggy rugs presumably sourced from some sort of animal… possibly bear pelts. A gray suede sectional was set across from a slate fireplace, above which hung an 80 inch flat screen. Baubles that looked as though they’d been collected from around the world were set up in organized rows on corner shelves, and the overall feel was something rich, yet homey. “Modest, I know, but I wouldn’t know what to do with more space than this...perhaps hire another live-in housekeeper and fill it with more sentimental trinkets for them to dust.”

“Your housekeeper lives here?”

“Well, yes, but not all the time. She occasionally visits her mother a few hours away, as she is doing today.” He pointed to the floor. “I offered one of the upstairs rooms, but she prefers the basement because it’s naturally a little cooler down there. She likes the cold, although I can’t imagine _why_.” He made a face at the window, where one could see that it had begun to snow. “Dreadful stuff.” He huffed in an almost comical manner before showing you along.

You couldn’t believe this; who was this person? It couldn’t possibly be the same man who’d threatened Grillby, tried to kill Alex, and the one human with such overtly high LoVe that it made you physically sick several times. His entire demeanor had done such a mind-boggling 180 degree turn, it was difficult to believe he wasn’t putting on an act of his own. Yet here he was welcoming you into his home as if he were… normal. He talked as if he wasn’t a mob boss with a criminal empire spanning one sixth of _Los Montañas_.

He showed you first to the library. It was supposed to be used as a den, but was so crowded by shelves that nothing much else could fit inside. He obviously hadn’t been lying when he’d claimed to enjoy reading, but that didn’t break down your guard.

After giving you an extensive tour of the entire home, he brought you back through the kitchen where you took a seat at the granite island to watch him prepare dinner. “Any allergies I should be aware of?” He asked as he set out the necessary cookware. “Speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

That actually made you smile for real. It reminded you of something Red might say for some reason. “None that I know of.”

“Perfect.” He turned his back on you as he worked. “I don’t believe you’ve told me where you’re originally from, have you?” The serrated bread knife in his hands diced through several tomatoes at a feverish pace.

“Pennsylvania.” You kept an uneasy eye on his hands. There wasn’t any telling what could happen if he decided to drug you. “How about you, Jacopo?”

“When you’re here, please-” He turned around and there was a single tomato seed stuck to his cheek. “-call me Jack. It would be nice to hear that aga-...why are you laughing? Did I say something absurd?” His perplexed face only served to make you giggle ever more madly. Unable to form a proper word, you pointed to your own cheek. He put a finger right where you’d indicated and came away with the seed on his fingertip. “You had better watch out, darling, it seems I am quite the _bad seed_.”

“Good gods, that’s awful.” Your sides and face hurt now, and it was all thanks to an image your mind conjured up. Him, with that seed still stuck to his cheek, giving out deadly-serious orders in the dim light of a conference room to gangsters too afraid to tell their boss he was wearing his dinner. After calming down, a question began to nag at you. “You’re… different than before.” Hopefully, he didn’t take that as an insult.

“Different?” Curls of cheese fluttered down into a waiting bowl as he pondered your remark. “Ah, yes, _different._ You mean the whole ‘murderous mob boss’ schtick.” He snorted derisively. “To tell you the truth, I despise it. The money, the respect…” He sighed a little. “...and, of course, the illusion of control are all seductive mistresses to be sure, but rather distasteful after a while in the same way sugar eventually goes sour on the tongue.”

“I’m… sorry?” This had you entirely messed up in the head. Had the don switched places with a body double or something? This _couldn’t possibly_ be the same man; the other one was cold, calculating, and seemingly heartless. This one… he… he was confusing.

He watched the pasta sauce simmer with an indecipherable expression. “To be brief, I inherited the position. _Cosa Nostra_ is upheld entirely by family; without a proper heir to fulfill the donship, it would have come crumbling down around everyone’s ears. The power vacuum alone would have sent Ebott City into a spiral as the other families quarreled over the territory. Or, worse yet, someone who actually enjoyed this kind of work would have taken over.” His mouth worked into a disgusted grimace. “Such as that monster fellow Asgore…” He scoffed. “Former _king_ of the Underground. Not a very good king, if you’d ask me. He’s much too heavy-handed, and if there’s anything anyone should know about running a criminal syndicate, it’s that _loyalty_ takes precedence over fear.”

“I don’t understand.” You clutched the granite top so hard your knuckles turned white.

He wiped a massive hand down his face with heavy-hearted groan. “I saw a bit of a kindred spirit in you. Sometimes it feels like I’m an actor in my own life… and one actor can nearly always spot another.” He met your eyes with a soft, familiar gaze. “I have to applaud you for your performance so far. If it were any other of the so-called ‘criminal kingpins’ of this city, it would have worked -utter dullards, the lot of them.” Fear stole your breath as he went on. “Really, lead-laced drinks was a truly inspired idea; the don passes and it seems the Prohibition has struck down yet another troubled, world-weary soul.”

You leaped to your feet, backing up slowly, but he remained right where he was. “Don’t, please, if you’d only sit down-” He gestured back at your stool. “-I can explain. I’ve asked you here for help, not to get any sort of revenge or to set up a ridiculous, vaudevillian murder.”

“What could you possibly…” Your voice wavered in your throat, despite the pleading tone he’d taken. “...I ...I don’t trust you.”

“Rightfully so.” He tucked his hands behind his back. “And I have nothing to prove to you a single word coming out of my mouth is the truth, but I’d consider it a service if you simply put aside the disbelief for a moment. Sit down, give me a chance… and please let me finish preparing dinner, I do make a _divine_ baked ziti.”

You had no choice. He was bigger, stronger, and he knew his way around. You weren’t even sure if you could find a room to lock yourself in while calling Red for help. Also, his personal guard was patrolling the entire outside of the building. There wasn’t any way you could possibly escape. So, with your brain screaming for you to run with each step, you returned to your seat. This had been such a _terrible, unutterably stupid_ idea…

“Thank you, _cara mia_.” He appeared relieved. “Now, for that explanation I promised.” He returned to his cooking with gusto. “In the nine years I’ve held the donship, I’ve been a reluctant participant in -and witness to- the atrocities committed by my peers of The Commission. They, unlike myself, are dedicated criminals, and completely unrepentant.” The bubbling sauce popped and hissed while he spoke. “I’d prefer the city be rid of them, but I cannot openly make any moves without risking catastrophic fallout. So, I’ve set my board up for a long-term game of chess, and you… you are my queen.”

He smiled rather sweetly at you over his massive shoulder. “I’ve made sure it is a terribly kept secret that ‘Don Skintag’ -oh yes, I know about that and it _is_ rather gross, but admittedly creative- is courting the lovely Lady Luck herself.” The smell of garlic, onion, and other spices perfumed the air. “All eyes would be on the soon-to-be Donna, especially since she is so well-known and loved in her own right.” He winked at you. “Her don would certainly wish to show her off to the others… and what better way to do that than for her to put on the grandest yet of all her performances? With all of the Dons, their Donna, friends, business partners, criminal co-conspirators, Caporegime, Consiglieres, Underbosses, triggermen, and associates under one roof, we would have all their pieces gathered for the checkmate.”

“Deadluck...” You mumured.

“A ironically fitting name for the sight of a political slaughter worthy of Rome, don’t you think?” He chuckled over the snapping of the grease as he browned the ground beef. “Of course, if we did it all at once, the economy would take a nosedive and possibly send the entire city into a spiral of ruin. We would need to _gradually_ pinch off the blood supply to their villainous bodies. Attack the minor trade and business hubs first; the forged documents and legal paper providers, the crooked cops who begin to mysteriously die off, breaking down their illegal imports at the source in the docks… do you see where I am going with this?”

“I think so?”

“Lovely, you’re a wonderfully intelligent woman.” He drained the pasta and flipped it into a glass casserole dish. “Then, we would go after the arteries; the guns and ammunitions trade, the hooch running, and the counterfeiting.”

“What about you and _your_ men?” It sounded very close to a ploy leaning toward control of a criminal monopoly.

“Pfft, my men... _rotto nel culi_ …” He made a disgusted face. “I loathe most of them, but I do have a select few I trust completely. They are good people caught in a web much like myself. Most of them are now amongst my personal guard, although a few are not. Red, Swifty, and Jimmy Price are all people I would trust with my life.”

“Red and Swifty hate you! They want to kill you, and I think I’m going to have a horrible time persuading them not to.”

He flooded the past with sauce, meat, and a hearty helping of cheese before sliding the entire thing into the oven. “And that obviously shows their good character. Frankly, I’d have been more concerned if they weren’t interested in whacking me.” He motioned to you. “Be a dear and hand me the timer, would you?”

Still reeling from this strange turn of events, you dazedly handed over the tiny, black timer. There were still so many questions you had, a mostly literal plethora of explanations your mind demanded, yet you weren’t entirely certain you were ready for such an informational bombardment. _It might break my brain_ , you thought as you let out an exhausted sigh. “Do you have absolutely any way I could _possibly_ , even somewhat _remotely,_ convince them you’re telling me the truth? Please, give me something to work with here.”

He shut the oven door, and could finally pay all due attention to you. “Me? No, not in the least, but I know a man who could. An old, dear friend who’s come back to all of us from the other side.” He leaned on the granite island with a massive grin. “I told you I put a hit on him, did I not? Well, who’s to say I didn’t pay an exorbitant amount of money for the gunman’s hand to _slip_ as well, hmm?”

Jack beamed as realization slowly began to dawn on you. “I’m sure he’s deduced my tip of the cards, and will be waiting when you return. Together, I know the two of you will manage. He’s an utterly brilliant man, and you’re an equally brilliant woman. I have the utmost faith you can both prove my intentions.”

“You’re… I... “ You let out a deep breath. “I’m sorry, this is so much all at once.”

He laid his hand over one of yours sympathetically. “I know, and I’m sorry, but I’m exhausted, and completely bored of being a static antagonist; it’s so _dull_.”

You rubbed your left temple where a stress headache had started to throb. “Are you okay, by the way? I know you’ve definitely been drinking those leaded cocktails.”

He smirked proudly before smashing his fist to his chest with hearty thump. “I’m healthy as a horse, no need to worry, it would take a little more than four or so bad drinks to bring me down.”

“Maybe we should’ve tried horse tranquilizers instead.” You halfheartedly joked, which made him break out in a giant grin.

“There was a time, if you could imagine it, when I was yet more robust.” You gawked at him in disbelief, but he only raised an eyebrow at you playfully. “In my boxing days, they used to call me ‘The Hercules of the Ring’ and-” He held up a finger as you dissolved into giggles. “-it was an entirely serious moniker. Don’t laugh...but _oh_ , your laugh is wonderful. Nevermind, laugh away.”

After a few moments of shared chortling, you sobered up enough to finally ask the most burning question. “How did you manage the LV trick? You even fooled Red with it. He thinks you’re a sociopath.”

“Two parts suggestion to one part truth makes the best recipe for a lie.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand. “I’ve had an extensive background in dealings with people of derelict morals, and my intimidating size is helpful, too. As for the actual LV… “ His smile died an instant death. “I have a lot of real blood on my hands, but that’s a story for another time.”

The timer went off with a buzz serving to immediately bring him back from his somber musing. “That would be the ziti!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I have you guys fooled? M. Night Shyamalan would be so proud of me.... X'D
> 
> For those of you who've read Secretly Yours, Jacopo 'Jack' Taglioni/Don Skintag is the alternate self of Hercules, who was one of the Fangs. And yes, we will see all of the Fangs' alternate selves eventually. Keep an eye out for them, and you might spot them as they crop up! 
> 
> Feel free to guess when or if you review, too. I thrive on speculation, muhahaha! Oh, and here's the link to that playlist I promised, but be warned that it may expand as things progress! <3  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLTFi2nj7iSZqzIYQzMdwbGcGfXAs2yyFX


	26. Bella Notte

Dinner was odd, but nice. The two of you gabbed away the night, trading jokes, funny stories, and even a bit of plain, companionable silence. This man, the one who was bright and open, was a far cry from the leering shadow you’d known before. He was a mug of hot chocolate on the coldest winter morning compared to the muddy puddle you’d met in the past. By the end, you’d gone from hating his guts to copying his number into your phone.

“I’ve had a wonderful evening, _cara mia._ ” He eased into the limo seat beside you, still holding the hand he’d just kissed. This time, no guard was present to dull the atmosphere. “Perhaps we could do this again sometime?”

“I’d love to.” Your face was sore from smiling, and your voice was a little hoarse from all the laughing you’d done over the course of the night. It was captivating to talk with someone whose interests overlapped your own, you had to admit, and Jack was the most intelligent and exceedingly pleasant conversationalist you’d had the pleasure of meeting.

“There is _one_ thing I’d like to rectify before we are forced back into our costumes by the spotlight of reality.” He caressed your face, gently turning it to the right to expose the light bruise that had blossomed there over the course of the past few hours. “I am incredibly sorry for this. I hope you know now I don’t make that a habit, but it was still incredibly wrong of me.“ He let his words trail off into a regretful noise from deep in his throat. “If you’ll allow it…” His breath now brushed your cheek.

He kissed the bruise he’d caused with a gentleness belied by his rough appearance. His lips were soft against your skin, and your eyes slipped closed for a moment. He stroked the other side of your face before withdrawing. “ _Sei bellissima..._ ” But it didn’t seem to be entirely directed at you, as it was spoken beneath his breath and his eyes were smokey with something intensely familiar yet unplaceable.

You sucked on your bottom lip thoughtfully for a moment. “You know, I think it would be nice to change things up for once. Are you still interested in participating in one of the shows?”

He snapped out of his dreamy state, a smile creeping across his features. “I couldn’t imagine passing up the opportunity. What are you planning in that clever, lovely head of yours?”

You beamed up at him. “I’m going to set the stage for you to finally safely show off who you really are.”

“Will you now?” He seemed highly amused, yet equally interested.

“Yes! I’ve got the perfect thing in mind!” You laid hands on both his shoulders as excitement bubbled up like a fresh-water spring in your soul. “I know Red would _never_ do it, but the idea’s been tickling at me for a while now. You don’t mind playing a romantic part, do you?”

His eyes shone with mischief. “Madam, I am second-generation Italian-American; romance is in my _blood_.”

“Can you sing? If you can’t, that’s not a problem. Red was practically tone-deaf before, and I managed to teach him.”

“I haven’t in a long time, but yes, and dance a little, too. I’ve done a bit of jive and swing, and my mother would have died of embarrassment if I grew up with no knowledge of Viennese Waltz or _tarantella_.” He straightened his shoulders proudly. “You seem to be more skilled in cabaret-style, but I am sure we would make a lovely couple… on the dance floor, of course.” He added with a wink.

“Are you… are you flirting with me?”

“If I said I was, would you say it was working?”

The innocent act didn’t play out well for him, but it was so hilarious you had to take a second to compose yourself. “You’re nothing like I thought you were.” You told him once you’d caught your breath. “And I’d love to be friends, but I’m afraid I’m taken… I think.” It was hard to tell with Red; he was so off-on with you, it was fairly ridiculous.

“You think?” He held out a hand to help you to your feet as the guard opened the door. “Hm, well, please get back to me when you know because-” He produced a single iris from thin air, azure as the eyes of the goddess herself, and tucked it behind your ear. “-I am _very much_ captivated by you, _mia bella coccinella_.”

You touched the flower in your hair. “You do magic, too?!”

He only shrugged with a mysterious smile, and you were left to stare until the door was shut and the limo gone. In fact, you stood there for a while pondering what exactly had just happened. The pre-dawn sky was still a sleepy, navy blue, the frost of the night hadn’t yet warmed, and you were cold, tired, but completely blown away. “This city is gonna kill me.” You finally muttered, having mustered the will to turn away.

“Perhaps it will, but only if you let it.” Said a voice from the shadows.

You let out a yelp, stumbled backwards, and hit the blacktop of the parking lot hard on your bottom. “See!” You grumbled as you glared at Alex, who’d now emerged with an apologetic expression. “ _This_ is what I’m talking about!”

He pulled you back to your feet. “My apologies, I wasn’t intending to frighten you, but I have to make sure to stay mostly out of sight. There are too many people here from my past who could pick me out of a crowd.”

He led you over the lot, down the grassy embankment, and right up to a poorly lit waterfront path that stalked the Big Horn River for several miles. It was meant to be a sort of bike or walking path with small viewing boxes jutting out every quarter or so mile. Supported by thick, bridging material and hefty slabs of plexiglass, the boxes could be closed off to the world in order to enjoy watching underwater life go about its day. It was into one of these he showed you before choosing to speak once again. “You left the hotel with Jack.” He stated plainly.

“Yeah, I did. He’s so...I-I don’t think… Alex, I can’t keep up with the plan to kill him.” The idea of going through with it made your stomach twist into unfathomably tight knots.

He reached into his trench coat, coming out with a stack of folders and fanned them out before you. “I was able to deduce exactly what Jack intended to do the moment I heard you had gone with him, so I dug up all of my old information on him to provide some extra reassurance, if he hasn't entirely convinced you already.” You took the folders to skim through while he continued. “When Swifty first came to his employ, I intended to use whatever dirt I could to bring Taglioni down, but what I found was… strange. The first clue was this.” He slid a red folder from within to put it at the forefront of your attention. “Mafiosos often have at least a pinkie finger dipped into human trafficking...but not Taglioni, no...although he does have a couple joints full of pro-skirts.”

“What’s any good about that?!”

“Well, apparently they’re all of legal age and doing it of their own accord. None of the money they make gets sent up the line except for rent and utilities. A house doctor provides round-the-clock medical attention, and everything appeared… oddly… uh… clean. A Madam, one who’s had experience in the trade, oversees it all.” He flipped the folder closed as soon as you were done reading quickly over interviews, viewing snapshots, and other such evidence of the businesses.

The next to be shown was a yellow folder, old and bent all to hell, that he took from the very bottom. It was particularly hefty. “This is a record of every mark he’s supposedly placed, people he’s needed to tighten the screws on, and anyone he’s had to throw lead at in any way for any reason. There’s more than fifty people in here, _chérie_ … can you guess how many of them are actually dead?” He flipped through and stabbed the mugshot of some bruised-up thug. “This one. He was a valuable associate of a rival, upstart gang doing nearly all their box jobs. Taglioni made his death positively brutal; he paid to have the guy chained to a safe set to boil soup in an hour. It was a good business decision, sure, to bump this bim off, but he had a...reputation. A reputation with _extremely_ young girls, if you understand me.”

He flipped to the very last page of that folder, and, to your surprise, Alex’s own face was pasted in right next to a short account, death certificate, and pages of public tax information. “And then there is me.” Alex pulled the toothpick from his mouth to tap the folder. “When I ‘died’, I thought it was only by some miracle I suffered only a bullet to the shoulder, not the heart, and so I faked my own death to try to get a drop on Taglioni.”

He changed his focus to the receipts. “I began to get suspicious when the funeral was paid off in full by a charity through a donation by an anonymous benefactor. My brother would’ve been too proud to apply for assistance from any charity, and no one cares much about a private dick who got himself chilled off for sticking his beezer where it didn’t belong.”

He turned to pages and pages of print-outs and testimonials. “What I found is that Taglioni’s ‘criminal’ empire falls apart the moment one takes more than a cursory glance. The only truly illegal things he does are brewing and running hooch, buying illegal arms, printing up grifter’s mazuma, and importing Cuban cigars -mostly for himself.” He chuckled.

“But his LV-”

“I understand your hesitancy.” He cut you off with an upheld hand. “That, too, was a point against him until I scrounged up testimony from a few older gang members he’d ‘killed off’ for openly wanting to leave the life.” All he had to show this time was a couple of pages of hand-written accounts. “The previous don, our man’s cousin, was ruthless, and when Taglioni took over there were many who weren’t happy about the changes that came with him. They tried to knock him off, and so he rounded them all up, locked them in a shipping container, and dropped the entire thing into the harbor. That act of iron-fisted brutality gave him an undying reputation _and_ an LV higher than my blood pressure.”

You didn’t know what to say, other than to question how no one else before Alex had discovered this. “‘ _Two parts suggestion, one part truth_ …” You leaned on the support bar bolted along the inside of the viewing box. The gut feeling you’d experienced, the one that told you to believe Jack in spite of everything, finally felt justified and the guilt of possibly having betrayed your lover faded away. “Where have you been all this time then, Alex?”

“Over time, Jack and I have become good friends.” He admitted with a hint of a smile. “At first, I considered asking him to let me take my brother, Red, and Boss before making for the hills, but that would have been selfish.” He returned the folders to the inside of his coat. “He convinced me we could do something for this town in getting rid of the entire Commission altogether, but the problem was in the _how_ . I kept up the charade of being dead to get the spill on the worst of the worst, but we still had no definite plan until _you_ showed up.”

“What do I have to do with any of this?” It did beg the question, too, of why everyone seemed to think you were the answer to pretty much everything. Were acting skills that much of a hot commodity here? Maybe you shouldn’t have stuck around for so long back in Pennsylvania, you could’ve been pulling in the butter and egg money much sooner.

“Think about it, doll.” He replied earnestly. “A pretty dame is shooting her way to stardom in the employ of one of the few men Jack trusts… at this rate, you’re getting to be as famous as Mettaton himself. Couple that with becoming a Donna, and the sheer sociopolitical obligation would have The Commission scrambling to attend whatever event of yours to which they were invited.

“Okay, but how are we going to handle Asgore?” You wrung your hands worriedly. The ghost of cold metal pressed against your head still haunted you at night. “He threatened to kill Red and me if we didn’t bump Jack off.”

“I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse.” Alex replied with a confident air. “Trust me when I say it will be taken care of.”

“Alright, between the two of you, I fully believe it.” You gnawed anxiously at your lip. “But we’ve still got to somehow convince literally _everyone else_.”

“A problem we can surely tackle as long as we are firm and consistent.” Alex assured you. “We’ll handle it all tomorrow. I’ve already told them I’d stay up to make sure you came home safe and sound, so we should have a short peace before hell breaks loose.”

 

And hell it was, for no sooner had the pair of you walked back to the hotel did you both find that none of the others had managed to sleep. Instead, they were all congregated in the meeting room downstairs. Boss snatched you off your feet, while Alphys’ bottom lip quivered and her swirling glasses fogged up. “We...we thought...when you didn’t...we were afraid you weren’t c-coming back!” She wailed, throwing her arms around your dangling legs.

“We were gonna send someone to get you, punk.” Undyne crossed her arms irritably. The circles under her eyes gave some clue to her distress. She lightly slugged you in the upper arm. “That’s for makin’ us so fucking worried.” She then heavily patted your head before tucking Alphys under her arm to drag her back and give you space.

Swifty stole you from Boss’ arms. “ _Ma chérie_ , you are safe now!” He stroked your cheek sweetly while ignoring Boss’ loud protests and smoothly dodging all attempts to steal you back.

“I wasn’t in any danger.”

He tutted. “No need to be brave, _ma belle dame_ , we all understand.”

“Alex, maybe we should tell them now?” You twisted your head around to see if he, too, was being similarly accosted, but everyone simply stepped out of his way. Your question had them all watching him with inquisitive eyes as he removed the ever-present toothpick from his mouth.

“ _Oui_ , we should.” His accent grew heavier as he appeared to fight his way through organizing his thoughts. “Please sit down, all of you. We have news to share.” They all settled into chairs; even Red, who was looking a wild mix of frustrated, confused, and exhausted, obediently took a seat.

Alex spread the rainbow of folders before him on the table, took a deep breath, and began. He told them everything he’d told you and more, gave examples, evidence, and pleaded Jack’s case. Nearly a decade’s worth of evidence was laid out for them all to examine, pass around, and study. Scowls formed, upset mumbling was heard, and distrustful faces eyed Alex as if he’d gone completely mad.

“Are you absolutely _sure_ , _frére_?” Swifty uncertainly chewed on the filter of an unlit menthol. Alex gave his brother a strong, curt nod, and the rum runner sighed heavily. “Then I believe you.” He pushed the folder containing his brother’s death certificate away with the point of a pencil. It was plain to see how uncomfortable he was to be merely be looking at it. “I am not sure where we go from here.”

Boss was next to concede. “The case for him much overwhelms the case against.” His jaw was locked, however, and there was a narrowness to his sockets that suggested this was immensely difficult for him to admit.

Red slammed his fists down on the table. “Don’t tell me yer forgettin’ what he did to ya, bro.” He reached out to grab for Boss’s face and ran a thumb over the trio of deep, poorly healed, scars running across his socket. “He _shot_ atchya over a goddamn recipe, remember? Ain’t that worth killin’ the sonuva bitch over?”

Boss looked immensely disconcerted over his brother’s behavior, and cleared his throat loudly. “I may have... _ahem_...that is, I might have exaggerated that incident quite a bit. I was… upset at the time, after all.”

“What the fuck’re ya-”

Boss sneered at the ceiling. “I was _attempting_ to educate him on the proper way to prepare a fine bowl of spaghetti, but the absolute rube dared to insult my cooking!  _HE SPAT OUT MY SPAGHETTI! OF ALL THE NERVE! I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO UTTERLY INSULTED IN MY ENTIRE-..._ ” He pinched his nasal bridge, growling as he did. “Obviously, someone like that doesn’t deserve my cooking, so I tried to take the fork back from him, but that bear-handed buffoon has a grip like a… like a… A VERY STRONG PERSON… I was tugging when he let go, and I…” He touched the scars with an indignant expression. “I… I was maimed.”

“That-” Swifty raised an eyebrow at Boss, barely able to compose himself at this point. “-was a _pasta_ injury?!” He was in danger of swallowing his cigarette with how hard he was snickering. “I am not saying you deserved it, _mon ami_ , but you should have known better than to try to argue with an Italian over pasta. The Germans have tried.”

“If we’re going to decide rather he’s a good guy or not based on his cooking, then I’m sorry Boss, but Jack’s baked ziti _is_ fantastic.” You could still taste it if you thought about it, and if you weren’t already full, it would have made your mouth water with the memory.

Boss let out a noise of such deep betrayal, one would’ve thought you’d killed his cat. “You! You were like a sister to me! How could you?!” He turned his chair from you in a huff. “Hence forth, you are disowned!”  
  
You blinked slowly. “Boss… I’m… I’m not related to you. You can’t-”

“SANS! MARRY THIS TASTELESS WENCH SO I MAY DISOWN HER AT THE WEDDING!”

“Uhhh…” Red swallowed with difficulty, appearing rather panicked. He sank deep into his chair to avoid eye contact from anyone else at the table. “I’ma just be here… on the floor… lookin’ for… uh… mah… pen… yeah… _mah pen_ … damn pens…”

“Does this mean we are all on the same page here?” Alex asked, his own chuckles echoing Swifty’s nigh-uncontrollable laughter. “If so, I’m sure we can all wait until Red retrieves his pen to sign off on it.”

There was a grumble from under the table, a bump, and then a muttered curse as Red slowly reappeared. “Yeah, yeah… fuckin’... _whatever_ … I still don’t have t’ like the bastard.”

“So, you mentioned earlier when you were explaining things that Skin-... I mean… um-”

“Jack.”

“Right… uh… so, Jack has a plan to get r-rid of the other crime bosses? What is it?” Alphys looked to you and Alex expectantly. “A-and wouldn’t that be giving him all the criminal power?”

“From what he has told both of us, he fully intends to take out his own men as well.” Alex replied. “Apart from a select few, whom we are all to meet, his entire regiment will be facing the final curtain. However, I would prefer to have him here for a proper explanation before I delve into any of that.”

“He’ll have to come back tomorrow to begin practicing with me. He’s going to be my partner for the Valentine’s Day performance-”   
  
“DISOWNED!”


	27. Vita Bella

It was a severe, abrupt transition from the entire hotel being terrified of  _ Don Taglioni _ to being friendly with the charming, sweethearted Jack. Now that he knew everyone there was dedicated enough to Boss and Red, he no longer bothered to try to sell his act once he was past the doors of Deadluck unless it was in the public eye. He made particular progress with the ladies of the hotel, who were, more often than not, swooning every time he entered a room. Not that he intentionally went out of his way to woo any of them, but his genuine, gentlemanly personality won over the grand majority. He only had difficulty in befriending Red and Boss, who stubbornly clung to their personal distaste for him, in spite of the weak defense in its favor.

Both were unhappy you’d chosen Jack over both of them for this performance, especially since you’d implied a while back it would be Boss who’d fill the role for Valentine’s Day. Eventually, though, they realized you’d made up your mind and stopped harassing you over it. It didn’t mean they’d accepted it, but that they’d simply given up complaining when you were around. Grillby and Swifty, though, often regaled you with stories of the rants that went on in your absence. Far from intimidating you as they once had, your lover and pseduo-brother’s tempers now only served to entertain.

As for Jack himself, the poor fellow was chilled to the bone by their cold shoulders. He handled it with grace and maturity, but you could see the somewhat wistful looks he’d send your way whenever Red or Boss were being dreadfully difficult. However, a few interrupted practices or waspish replies were infinitely preferable to assassination attempts.

In regards to his dancing ability, he’d been extremely humble. He required little instruction, and his singing was more than decent with only a bit of intervention. With a voice that reminded you of the depth of Bing Crosby, the playfulness of Dean Martin, and the expression range of Fats Waller, he was definitely well on his way to having a regular spot in the casino shows. Speaking candidly, Jack was a dream to work with.

By the night of his debut, you were bouncing with excitement. The house was packed, although that wasn’t a shocker since your performances nearly always sold out, and everything inside was themed to the max. From the brass handrails that lined the loft of the high-roller lounge hung chains of heart-shaped fairy lights in baby-blush pink and brilliant red. Lace table runners in white, pink, red, and gold were draped across every surface not used for the games. Swaths of golden bells curtained the doorways so that every entrance and departure was announced by merry tinkling. Some of the band and staff were dressed in tasteful maroon suits with a single gold heart tucked into their hat bands, while the others wore dresses of snow-white with scarlet heels and delicate lace gloves.

“Are you ready,  _ cara mia _ ?” Jack tugged his suit jacket straight in front of the dressing room mirror.

“I’m always ready for the stage, Jack.” You fluffed the feathers of your hairpiece, put a final swipe of lipstick on, and turned to face him. “How do I look?”

“Positively ravishing.” He moved the curtain separating the dressing room and the bandstand to take a peek at the assembling musicians. “Break a leg, gentlemen!” He stage-whispered to them all, who grinned back and nodded.

A musical cue buzzed Shave-and-a-Haircut in the dressing room only seconds before the entire casino went black. Save for the hearts faintly twinkling like stars far above their heads, the audience was left in complete darkness. A chorus went up from the servers as they twirled and held up their chocolate box trays in offering to Lady Luck before the music even began to play. “ **In Napoli where love is king, when boy meets girl… here’s what they say~** ”

Jack, in all his tuxedoed glory, stepped first on the open stage with his entrance punctuated by a spotlight. “ **When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s** **_amore_ ** **.** ” He crooned into the crowd, his voice a passionate tease. “ **When the world seems to shine like you’ve had too much wine, that’s** **_amore_ ** **!** ” He spun slowly across the stage, seemingly alone, with a worshipful eye on the sky. “ **Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling, and you’ll sing ‘** **_Vita bella!’_ ** ”Confetti burst in comical balls above his head as he grinned, and tiny, scarlet hearts cascaded down to settle on his broad shoulders and in his black, slicked hair like a snow sent by Aphrodite. “ **Hearts will play tippi-tippi-tay, tippi-tippi-tay like a gay** **_tarantella._ ** ”

He was momentarily eclipsed by a scarlet cloud when he crushed a smoke bomb in hand. Lady came for him from the core of the magic fog to drape herself across his arm. “ **When the stars make you drool just like pasta fasul, that’s** **_amore_ ** **.** ” He righted her, as the smoke cloud slowly dissipated, but clung to her shoes and the sway of her dress. “ **When you dance down the street with a cloud at your feet, you’re in love.** ”

He led Lady in a slow, purposeful waltz, tipping and dipping, swaying and playing, swirling and whirling across the stage in a haze of romance dripping with enough cheese to make a mouse longingly sigh. “ **When you walk in a dream, but you know you’re not dreaming,** **_signore_ ** **… Scuzzi mi, but you see, back in old Napoli, that’s** **_amore_ ** **!** ”

With a series of sharp pops, the nozzles were pulled on shaken -not stirred- bottles of frothy, club soda and bubbles arched into the air only inches above your heads. The spray dampened all but his spirits as the music moaned like a lover low in your ears. “ **When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s** **_amore_ ** **, that’s** **_amore_ ** **! When the world seems to shine like you’ve had too much wine, that’s** **_amore_ ** **, that’s** **_amore_ ** **!** ”

The bunny servers found themselves partners amongst the triggermen who tossed handfuls of chocolate coins from their pockets as they allowed themselves to be spun about by their fuzzy venuses. “ **Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling. And you’ll sing ‘** **_Vita bella, Vita bella, Vita bella!_ ** **’** ”

In the loft, however, not all was so entrancing. Red glared down over the railing, his teeth clenched tight, as the scene played out. Beside him, Swifty was splayed out on a leather couch with a tiny, Italian flag hanging from the end of his cigarette as he, too, looked on. “Keep on like that,  _ mon amie _ , and you will crack your teeth.” He chuckled when his friend’s only reply was to snatch the cigarette from between his lips and put the end to a lighter. There was a certain satisfaction for Red in watching that little flag burn to a crisp…

“ **Hearts will play tippi-tippi-tay, tippi-tippi-tay like a gay** **_tarantella!_ ** ”

Jack glanced up to catch Red’s blatant, irritated stare and sighed sadly. “ **Lucky fella…** ” But he had Lady for the time being, and he was clearly going to make the most of it. “ **When the stars make you drool just like pasta fasul, that’s amore! When you dance down the street with a cloud at your feet, you’re in love!** ” Lady rested her head on his chest, and he brought her chin up to look at him as their dance gradually slowed to an easy rock. His mouth hovered over hers in a heated slant. “ **When you walk in a dream, but you know you’re not dreaming,** **_signore… Scuzzi mi, but you see, back in old Napoli, that’s amore! That’s amore!_ ** _ ” _

Lady and the Don bowed once before the entire casino, but there was no signature poof, not glitz of smoke, no glimmer or gleam of ghostly fog to spirit her away this time. Her hands fit well into only one of his own, while the other moved to pull something from his breast pocket. A collective gasp erupted the moment the fearsome Taglioni dropped to one knee. The spotlight gleamed off of the facets on a gorgeous, four carat diamond set in rose gold. There was no speech, not a single word, but a deafening silence as nearly a hundred spectators held their breath.

Then, to the amazement of all, Lady slid the signet ring of Deadluck from her ring finger and placed her hand back in his. On went Taglioni’s ring, up went the lights, and both Lady and Don were magicked away. The audience went rabid, while up in the loft no one seemed to notice another, half-foaming snarl or the cigarette that was sucked down to the filter in a single hell-hot inhale.

Back in the office, the excitement was palpable. With that incredibly public engagement, there were sure to be rumors running rampant along the strip. “I think that went incredibly well, don’t you?” Jack laid an arm around your shoulders as he smiled back at the rest of his co-conspirators.

He mopped at his brow with a handkerchief. “Could someone please turn the AC up a few notches? The Wicked Don of the West is melting!”

“You promised to bring in the people you most trusted after the show, Jack.” Alex prompted as he obligingly tapped the AC controls. “If we have them here, we can begin to stage our first plan of attack.”

  
“Yes, of course. I’m surprised they aren’t-” Jack peered around the room, but then broke into a wide smile as the back door opened and several people filed inside. “-ah! There they are now.” He pressed himself back against the wall to make more room in the cramped office. “Ladies… gentlemen… please introduce yourselves.”

Single-file, Jack’s hand-picked guardsmen and women lined up. Their faces were hard, as if they’d seen too much grief and much of it by their own doing, but their eyes were bright and there was a warmth within them yet. The first to extend a greeting was an older gentleman sporting a handlebar mustache. “Huck, ma’am.” He lifted his hat to you, and to those all around before taking a bold stance on the other side of the don.

Behind Huck was a woman with her dark hair done in a deep, V-cut bob. She wore flowing culottes and an orchid-purple blouse, and her face was small, but there was something dangerous in the way she held her hips at a rebellious tilt. “Robin.” She said shortly, and then she was off to the side without so much as a how-do-you-do.

The next man to show his face was a bright, cheerful young man with naturally red hair. “Call me Zag, dollface.” He winked flirtatiously before spinning on his heel to stand beside Swifty.

A tall man, thin with an athletic build and grass-green eyes, stepped up next to the plate. The gray-green bowler was off his head in half a moment, and he had taken your hand before you realized he was even moving. “Triple-A at your service, sweetness. ” He flipped his hat smoothly back onto his head as he stood aside for his compatriots to have some space.

An African American man with a widow’s peak and lively, nut-brown eyes bowed swiftly at the waist. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. The name’s Wolf.”

“Oh, um, nice to meet you, too.” You smiled widely at him, and dipped into a polite curtsy.

Behind Wolf, came yet another young woman. She was stout, but her face was sweet and her mouth had a kind, plush set to it. “Cadence, honey. I’m the don’s assistant.” She gave you a firm handshake, then dismissed herself.

Another man, this one in his late fifties bearing a neat, pointed beard down to his chest, moved in. He smiled briefly at you, nodded as he lifted his hat, but you could barely hear his shy mumble. “Scratcher.” It sounded like that, anyway. 

The next to come was an eager, relatively young man. He wore a bomber jacket over his suit and gave you the brightest, whitest smile. “Blowbox…. Just call me Boxxie! Nice t’ meetchya; put ‘er there, sugar!” He grabbed your hand, kissed it, and sidled up on the other side of Red, who’d just stormed inside.

“Guess that just leaves me, then, huh?” Rounding off the rear was an average-sized man with eyes as blue as the ocean on a cloudless day, and his steel-gray suit accentuated his well-cut figure. He had a strong chin, and a defiant smirk, but there was something in his face that told you he was kind nonetheless. “Skip.” He pulled out a cigarette to hang from the corner of his mouth. “I’d offer you one, too, sweets, but...heh…” He lit the end with the flick of a zippo. “...yer already smokin’.”

“Man, you really gotta pull a line on every dame you see?” Wolf rolled his eyes. “My ‘pologies, ma’am. These guys ain’t ‘round ladies much.”

“Hey,  _ I’m _ a lady!” Robin growled at him.   
  
“Yeah, an’ I’m a rubber duck.” Huck scoffed. “Youse a hellcat, an’ that’s a fact.”

Robin was about to reply, but then considered his answer for a moment and nodded. “And don’t you forget it!”

“I count as a lady, right?” Cadence looked to Jack for reassurance.

“But of course you count,  _ topolina _ .” He purred at her. “You are merely one of the few we have the pleasure of seeing regularly, therefore you are quite admirably immune to our charms.”

_ Gods, he’s smooth _ . “Is this… are you sure this is everyone?” Counting up in your head, you realized a chilling fact; only eighteen people were here to assist.  How could  _ eighteen people _ take down the five other crime bosses in a city as large as this one?

Buster peeked out the door. “Yep, that’s everyone, tootsie roll.” He leaned against the back door heavily as he locked eyes with you, probably thinking the same thing you were. “‘Cept for that Jimmy Price guy.”

A heavy hand settled on your shoulder. “We are few, yes, but we have what the other bosses do not.” Jack stared pointedly at Boss, then Red, Undyne, Alphys, and Buster. “Their xenophobia will cost them dearly once we have sent the ball rolling.”

“What’s the plan, Boss-man?” Skip pulled the cigarette from his lips to ask.

“Mr. Price is currently on a job I’ve assigned him at the docks. He’s scouting out the areas frequented by the goons in the employ of our first target - Don Hidalgo.” Jack smiled coldly, and there was, for a second, a trace of the ‘one part truth’ he’d indicated that had made his act as Don so convincing.  “We will be intervening in his most recent shipment of black market automatics and ammunition. It is the smaller of his many operations, but we wouldn’t want to make things too conspicuous before we’re ready to lure them in for the slaughter.”

“He’d still be bound t’ notice.” Skip pointed out.

“Yes, and  _ that _ is precisely why we will first be searching out five or so of Donna Duffy’s people to leave about. Since her Don passed, she’s been finding it difficult to handle the vicious natures of her husband’s men. They’ve been… acting out, or so I’ve heard. If we can put Donna Duffy and Don Hidalgo at each other’s throats, they may very well bust each other’s chops. A gang war would lessen the number of those we’d need to personally handle at the end of the day.”

“By ‘search out’, do you mean…” You paled a bit. Technically, you’d already been party to murder, but would they expect  _ everyone _ to participate? You weren’t sure if you had the stomach to pull a piece on anyone, unless it was to protect a friend, Red, or yourself. But...wasn’t this all to protect Red in the first place? Wouldn’t he be safer in a city without these awful people running amok?

“We find ‘em, chill ‘em, an’ then we plant ‘em.” Red stepped around Jack to pull you into a protective embrace. “But that’s up t’ us, not you.”

“Quite right.” Jack agreed, although he looked strangely annoyed at being side-stepped and politely nudged Blowbox out of the way so that you were now wedged between Red and himself.

Red glared at Jack, but didn’t comment. His pressed you possessively against his side. “When we s’posed t’ get our asses in gear ‘stead o’ standin’ around, eh?”

Jack reached over to lightly stroke your hair -was he doing this on  _ purpose _ to piss Red off? But the petting did feel nice, even if these two insisted on being petty. “We will wait until Mr. Price returns with the information he was sent to retrieve, then we will send out two parties; one to get our plants, and the other to nick the guns and bump off the guards.”

“So, you expect us t’ just sit on our hands ‘til that palooka Price comes back?” Red sneered.

“Did I stutter?  _ My apologies _ … yes, that is  _ precisely _ what you will be doing.” Jack raised an eyebrow calmly at Red, and his mouth twitched up in one corner. They locked eyes and sparks flew like steel striking flint. “But for now, I’m sure  _ cara mia _ is tired, so I will gladly escort her to her rooms.”

“I’ll be the one doin’ any ‘escortin’’ if she needs it.” Red pulled you in the direction of the door.

Jack’s dark eyes grew blacker. “I don’t think she much appreciates being yanked about like that, my friend.”

“Stars!” Both men were roughly pushed aside by Undyne. “Fuck off, both of ya. All the machismo in here is makin’ it reek like a damned football locker room…” She grumbled as she easily broke Red’s hold on you, slung you over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and hauled you out of the office. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“No, it’s fine. I was wondering if they were going to each grab an arm and start tugging, honestly.” You giggled. A little part of you thought it was rather amusing to be fought over, although that was only a  _ terribly _ small part. The rest was concerned about their feelings, and how that would affect any future plans. If they were constantly trying to one-up each other, nothing would get done. At some point, this had to be settled.

“Don’t see what’s so hard ‘bout sharin’.” Undyne griped as she lugged you down the stairs. “Alphys an’ I share all the time! But I guess it ain’t for everyone, huh, punk?” She grinned at you, her shark-like teeth gleaming in the dim light of the stairwell. “Which one’s yours again, ladybug?” You pointed out the way, and she tromped in that direction. “Y’know, maybe ya oughta try...uh… don’t tell anyone I said this I don’t wanna come off as  _ soft _ , but… you can try t’ sit ‘em both down. Have a custody talk, maybe?”

“C-custody?” You squeaked, your eyes going wide.

“Sorry, I dunno. ‘S just what Alphys an’ I call ‘em when we have a third.” She shrugged you off her shoulders and held out her hand for your key. You pulled it from the knot of your hair to hand it over. “I’m just sayin’ things might go a lot smoother if Red’s not breakin’ shit every two seconds an’ Jack’s not accidentally - _ or intentionally-  _ instigating the temper tantrums with all his schmoozing.”

“That’s… not the  _ worst _ idea I’ve ever heard.” You said after a few seconds of contemplation. “I suppose I could try.”

“There is no try, punk.” She grinned at you as she slapped your keys back into your hand and scooched you inside your apartment. “There is only Zuul!” She slammed the door behind herself, and you could hear her continue to cackle loudly as she made her way down the hall.

You stared at the door blankly for a few seconds, then tossed your keys into the bowl on the table beside the door, and decided flopping down into bed was the best idea you’d had in a long time. “ _ Oy vey _ …”


	28. Dinner and a Talkie

It took some time to convince them both to sit down and have a civil conversation with each other… scratch that, it took _Red_ a while to agree to a polite discussion. Eventually, however, both were in the same room, sitting on your couch, and ready to agree to a bit of compromise. You currently sat between them to act as a type of buffer and incentive for neither of them to reach over to throttle the other. “Red, I understand the faux engagement upsets you, but can we please not allow personal feelings to get in the way of a better future for the entire city?”

“Just don’t see why ya gotta go ‘round with _him_ all the time is all.” Red grumbled, knocking back a shot of whiskey.

“Jack and I have to be seen together.” You reminded him. “You’re my _boss_ and nothing more as far as the public is concerned.”

“If it’s a worry for you, I can promise I don’t intend on taking any liberties.” Jack interjected with his own olive branch.

“I know you’re both anxious about all of this, I am as well, but it’s only going to make things worse if the two of you are at each others’ throats.” You sighed, curling an arm around each of them. Jack glanced down at you, confused but happy, while Red barely acknowledged it. “What I’m proposing is a sort of... custody deal.” It was weird to use Undyne’s wording, but there was hardly a better way to put it. “Whenever I’m out in public, I have to be with Jack more often than you. That’s all there is to it, _but_ when we’re all three here… I’ll split my time evenly between you both. Jack will have Mondays, Wednesdays,  and Fridays. You will get Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.”

“Whadda’bout Sundays?” Red poured himself out another shot, though he didn’t drink it as much as he swirled it around in the glass.

“Sundays are Boss’s days. Before either of you two start, all he and I will be doing is _reading_ because your brother is dyslexic and I adore him.” The poor, younger skeleton brother had been sadly neglected in your hectic schedule as of late. He also had yet to forgive you for openly praising Jack’s cooking. Hopefully, starting back up on the reading would soften his feelings on the matter.

“That leaves you with no days, _cara mia_. Everyone should have some time to themselves. It’s only healthy.” Jack tutted sternly. “You can take Friday from me, if you’d like.”

“How about I take one day from each of you in turns?” You proposed. “This week I’ll take a day from you, and next week I’ll take a day from Red. Are you both happy with that?”

Red ground his teeth. “Happy? Fuck no.” He downed another huge gulp of alcohol, sighing heavily over the burn in his throat. “But looks like I ain’t got a damn choice in the matter, so… to hell with it. Fine.” He glared at Jack. “But no funny business from you, ya slick-haired fuck, or I’ma grind yer ass up an’ sprinkle ya over a bowl of Boss’s spaghetti.”

“Please don’t, his cooking is dreadful.”

Red let out a quiet snicker. “Heh, yeah it fuckin’ is.”

Sensing opportunity, you latched on. “See! Something you both can agree on!” You poked Red teasingly. “Is that a smile? I think I see a smile… he made you _laugh_.”

The smirk disappeared instantly. “I dunno what the fuck yer talkin’ about.”

“What was that _snrk_ noise, then?” You grinned at him, tickling his ribs in the way you’d found never failed to make his cheekbones go red.

“... Gas.”

Jack’s shoulders shook a little from withheld laughter. “Yes, you do seem rather full of _hot air_.”

Red could have boiled water with the simmering heat in his eyes. “You…” He growled. “You… “ After a second, he deflated and turned back to his drink in defeat. “Damnit, that was a good one.”

 

Life went on peacefully from there -as peacefully as it could go in Deadluck, anyway. Their rivalry thankfully took a gradual turn from hostile to snarky bantering over the course of three or so weeks. If you didn’t know better, you’d have thought they were getting to be friends of a sort. It was great fun to be a party to their no-holds-barred pranks and verbal barbs. Undyne’s advice had worked wonders, thank heavens!

 Of course, a few bumps along the way did send the rickety cart of their tenuous relationship off the rails, but it was typically quickly resolved. That said, their similarities were slowly eroding the edge of their differences, and when they did happen to catch on those snags, wild sparks were always sent in every direction until something caught the fire -usually you. Those tiny wildfires burned hot and fast, though they never lasted long.

Eventually, they took to sitting in on each other’s time on a few days of the week, and the three of you would hunt down a little entertainment together. Movies, in particular, they shared a taste in, (Jack’s Don Vito Corleone impersonations never failed to be a hit with Red) and, as it turned out, there was a surprising overlap in music, food, and general interests, too. It was strange at times to think how Red, who now ribbed at Jack like he did Swifty or Alex, had once so adamantly wished to kill the giant Italian man.

The bizarre nature of the situation hit you particularly hard one early morning on a Saturday. Red was reclined on the couch with you lazily draped over his chest, both of you snuggled under a blanket, and flicking through the TV channels. A heavy, double-tap on the door got your attention, but, not wishing to be up and about on your feet unless necessary, you simply called out for them to let themselves in.

There was rustling, then the doorknob jangled as if the person on the other side was having some difficulty opening it. Jack walked in wielding a grin, two seran-wrapped platters, and a two liter bottle of cream soda. “I come bearing gifts!”

Red pushed himself up a little, trying to get a good look at whatever the Italian had brought. You hopped off the couch to help take some of the burden off your impromptu visitor. The two platters of food went onto the table, and Red made room on the couch for Jack while you hunted down glasses in the kitchen.

There might have been a quarrel whenever Jack visited on Red’s time (although _Red_ often interrupted Jack’s), except he was always smart enough to bring food. And food, as you well knew, was the way straight into Red’s heart. The first few times Jack had done this, he’d begrudgingly grumbled a little before digging in and shutting up, but these days there was nary a peep of protest. Dare you say it, but you thought Red had grown to enjoy the occasional movie/dinner night with Jack.

“Tonight’s _speciale_ is bruschetta, avocado wrapped in prosciutto with a balsamic glaze, and _arancici di riso_ with my own homemade marinara sauce for dipping, and all with cream soda because _darling…_ ”

He carefully rolled back the wrap from the platters, wadded it up, and chucked it in the wastebasket you kept in the corner. “Two points!”

Red, who’d stuffed his mouth with an avocado snack, pointedly rolled his eyes. “Mphff…” He swallowed down the treat with relish. “That ain’t nuthin’! Sit back and watch the master.”

“The master?” Jack’s eyes gleamed. “Taking your titles _outside the bedroom_ now, are we?”

If Red had skin, he’d have a third degree burn right about then. His entire skull was lit up with magic, and he glowered at Jack as he balled up the paper bag Jack had brought the large tub of sauce in. He growled under his breath, but refrained from further comment -probably to avoid digging himself a deeper hole. He lobbed the ball at the trash can, smirking as it sailed right in atop the seran wrap. “Nuthin’ but net.” He said proudly as he grabbed for one of the _arancici_.

“A tie proves only that we are a match in skill, my friend.” Jack took the saucer and glass you handed him and began loading his plate. “Whose turn is it to pick the movie again? I’m afraid I’ve quite forgotten.”

“Mine.” You sat between them, resting your legs in Red’s lap while bracing your back against Jack’s shoulder. “I’m feeling _Scarface_ tonight.”

“Hm, good choice, good choice…”

The movie ran its course, as did the snacks, and by the end you were all craving something sweet. Jumping at any chance to prove his kitchen prowess, Jack commandeered your kitchen to whip up some chocolate biscotti. After several instances of Red licking his mixing bowls, Jack was forced to ban him from the kitchen. “ _Mia bella coccinella,_ I cannot work in these conditions!” He was only barely quick enough to steal back a mixing spoon before Red’s mouth had even opened. He brandished it at Red like a batter-coated sword. “Back, back I say!”

“Aww, c’mon… yer just gonna wash it, dumbass! Fuckin’ wasteful... “ Red took playful snaps at the spoon as it jabbed in his general direction.

“Gods above… _ach du lieber Himmel…”_ You groaned as you tried your best to yoink Red back from the kitchen. “Shoot, Red, leave him alone! You’ll get food when you get it.” He gave you such an annoyed puppy face, you had to laugh even as you struggled with all your might to heave him backward. It wasn’t working.

Jack, seeing this was going nowhere fast, relented under the condition that Red stay out of his way and only take bowls or spoons he was handed. He teasingly called it Red’s ‘inspection’ corner, and came to see the bright side of not needing to work as hard to clean the dishes when the biscotti were done.

With biscotti and a great deal of soda left, there was plenty more time to start another movie, but this time it was Red’s turn to pick. Instead of an actual movie, however, he went with some random pay-per-view boxing match. You personally didn’t care what was on the screen, but it didn’t really interest you either, so you chose to pick a book from your room and settle back down with that and a warm biscotti.

At first, all was calm. The storm came when Jack openly began rooting for the opposing boxer. The two of them rapidly became animated in their support, nearly bouncing to their feet with a triumphant fist pump or encouraging noise; it became loud enough to distract you from _Robinson Crusoe._ You were concerned when the glares and the heavy, upset puffing like a Grimm’s Fairy Tale wolf started, but then the inevitable back-and-forth broke the air.

“Yer frou-frou ass don’t know shit ‘bout boxin’!”

Jack scowled back at Red. “Frou-frou? I will have you know I nearly won The London Boxing Nationals for my academy!”

“You… y-you box?!” Red grew exceedingly flustered. “That’s fuckin’ bullshit.”

“I _did_ box.” Jack’s reply snapped like a whip in Red’s face. He huffed loudly, turning his head away from him sharply. “I simply haven’t gotten the opportunity in several years. If you weren’t aware, being a devious mob boss takes up all my time aside from the scant hours I spend inside this seedy hotel.”

“‘Ey, we ain’t seedy!” Red stuck a finger just under Jack’s nose. “We passed the fuckin’ health inspection this time!” Then, after a few minutes of studying the Don’s face, a malicious smile twisted up his mouth. “If yer so damn good at boxin’, how ‘bout you an’ I have a match?

“Today?” Jack inquired with a tone of incredulity. “Sir, it is 7:15 am! If not for the lovely lady, you couldn’t have pried me out of bed with a crowbar this early!”

“Nah, not today.” Red dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “Fuck, after this game ends, I’ma pass out, but t’morra… heh...t’morra, you an’ me’re gonna find out who’s the real champ here.”

“I wholeheartedly accept your challenge.” Jack calmly returned to his seat, and re-positioned you so that you were once again supported by his shoulder. “And what shall be the stakes?” He fondly combed his fingers through your loose waves.

“Winner gets t’ lock lips with my girl.”

You pushed at Red’s face with the tip of your toe. “You get to kiss me every day, goofball.”

“That _ain’t the point_ , sweetness.” He tickled the sole of your foot until you jerked it back.

Jack considered it for a second, glanced down at you seemingly for permission, and then nodded. “Accepted. Shake on it?”

Red grasped his hand hard and, as you looked from man to monster, you had a feeling you probably should’ve put your foot down on this. “Both of you had better behave.” You warned. “I’ll ask Undyne to be the referee, and she’ll totally kick both your asses if either one of you steps out of line.”

“Don’t you mean ‘out of ring’, darling?” Jack quirked an eyebrow at you.

“ _You motherfucker,_ that was gonna be **mah** fuckin’ joke!” Red seemed more annoyed about the ‘stolen’ pun than he did about the boxing. “Fuckin’ _frou-frou_ fucker, stealin’ **mah** jokes… ‘m the one fuckin’ does the motherfuckin’ punnin’ ‘round here, goddamn motherfuckin’ piece of-”

“Please, say ‘fuck’ a few more times and louder. I don’t think they’ve heard you on the sixth floor.”

This was a fine kettle of fish, you thought to yourself as they finally settled back down. Forget fighting the mafia; the real war was battling back laughter as these two bozos and their hilarious hijinks constantly rocked the hotel. It didn’t feel as if there was even any real anger or resentment between them by now. Mostly it was just bluff and competitive bluster. From what you’d seen, especially today, they were close to being friends. Maybe all they’d needed in the first place was some way to connect. With luck, boxing could be that connection.

 

Bright and early the next day, you, Undyne, Jack, and Red all filed into the hotel’s small gym. It was closed for the event, and all of the plastic blinds had been drawn over the plexiglass panels that separated it from the pool and the rest of the first floor. Housekeeping hadn’t had time to touch the place yet, either, and so it reeked slightly of sweat upon walking in.

Jack wrinkled his nose, but said nothing. Red didn’t appear to notice the smell -having seen and smelt his apartment, this was nowhere near a surprise- and immediately went to work wrapping his hands. There weren’t any seats aside from the bolted-down benches just inside the doors, thus you chose to sit on a padded lifting bench next to a rack of weights. Undyne leaned against the side of the slightly raised ring while she waited for them to get into their equipment.

It was… difficult… to refrain from staring. Both were bare-chested, in loose nylon gym shorts that left nothing much to the imagination, sporting bulky headgear, with wrapped knuckles slipped into massive gloves. From here, it was easy to compare them physically. Whereas Red was taller by at least half an inch, Jack had a small advantage in bulk and weight, but both were certainly massive and imposing.

The fight was intense. Neither one gave much ground in the first round, and Red ended up winning that one after landing more punches in the timeframe, but Jack won the next after a power punch so hard it put Red momentarily on his knees. With the score 10-9 for the first in favor of Red, and the second being 10-8 in Jack’s, the third round was meant to be the deciding factor.

Surprisingly, there wasn’t any trash talk from Red’s side of things. You’d have thought he’d try to taunt Jack at least a little, but he was hyper focused on the game at hand. Clearly, he had his mind more on boxing strategy than on being snide.

When the gloves went up for the final time, you saw that Undyne’s expression was a mix of amusement and awe at the way they went at each other. There was a ferocity between them; even for such a naturally intensely aggressive sport, this was serious. Jack’s nose was dripping blood, while Red’s left eye socket oozed a few drops of marrow, but the air was icy calm. The degree of their focus showed they’d both decided to give no quarter.

Their fists bashed, sometimes glancing and other times landing, but you couldn’t keep count. Red was quick, but Jack had all the defensive capability of a block wall. Jack went slower than Red, although his punches were much more solid when they connected. Back and forth, their jabs went, and the blood splatter became more of a constant drizzle than the odd spritz.

At the end, though, the timer went off and Undyne found herself stumped. They’d fought to a standstill. She offered yet another round, but both shook their heads. The gloves were tossed, the heavily padded headpieces removed, and hands were shaken. “Ya know, for a dandy fuck, you ain’t so damn bad.”

“For a rough hooligan, you’re still fairly bad, but… in a good way.”

And that was that. From that point on, it appeared they’d worked out their differences as best as could be expected. Red was more respectful and tolerant of Jack, Jack did his best to limit his smooth tongue, and all was well. Sure, they still exchanged as many barbs, but now both did their best to avoid crossing any lines.

Now, if only you could convince them both to worth on a show together, that would be a dream come true.


	29. A Token of Appreciation

Jack poured a glass of grape juice for you, a glass of Sangria for himself, and settled into the settee. “It was incredibly diplomatic of Red to set this arrangement and then stick to it as agreed.” He said to you with a smile. “He’s always made such a...erm…  _ possessive _ impression in the past.

“He’s had a difficult time adjusting to the idea, but he was determined not to go back on his word.” You admitted, taking a tiny sip of your juice. “In fact, he should be here by now. I’m not sure what’s taking him so long.”

After the intense boxing match, and the subsequent change in Red’s previously borderline hostile views on Jack, he’d still insisted on sitting in on one of Jack’s days. The purpose of it all being to finally distribute the spoils they’d earned in their valiant test of manhood; a kiss for each of them. Personally, you found it both endearing and amusing.   
  
A warp suddenly opened, dropping Red neatly on the couch between the both of you. You flinched a bit, but recovered quickly. “You’re late.” You teased.

“Got held up.” Red grumbled, his expression sour. “ _ Ass _ -gore was bein’ difficult again.” That statement, coupled with the face he was making over it, made your stomach drop. You hadn’t ever quite forgotten how it felt to have a pistol pressed between your eyes. “Still wants ya outta the picture, Jack.”

Jacopo’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Would he like to try to take me out of it himself?” He replied, his voice deadly soft. “I’d gladly gift him the opportunity.”

“ _ No _ .” You said firmly. “We’re not instigating anything with him. Don’t we need all the allies we can get to take down the other families? We need him around.” Fear gripped your heart as you considered the outcome of Jack confronting Asgore… the possibility of losing him was too much to bear thinking about. “We’ll talk to him properly… negotiate… tell him that he can have the position as soon as the other mafia families are eliminated.”

“I’d rather waste my life as it is now, than give any sort of real power to  _ him _ .” Jack grimaced. 

“Swifty’s made it crystal clear that Asgore only wants the position because he’s under the delusion that the power he wields will woo his ex.” Red countered. “Regardless of how well that plan works in his favor, it’ll still getchya outta the hot seat.” He let his head fall back against the couch. “Only hard part is figurin’ out how t’ explain an’ have ‘im  _ believe _ yer magically on our side, miracle o’ all miracles.”

Jack smirked. “Am I a miracle, Red? Because I have to warn you, flattery isn’t the fastest way up my skirt.”

“Hardy har…  _ Jackass _ .” Red rolled his eye lights, but failed to entirely hide his amusement.

“You two, I swear…” You shook your head and smiled fondly at them both. “So, moving on… who’s first?”

Red pulled a golden Deadluck token from his pocket. “Heads, I’m first. Tails, he is.” He flipped it high into the air and watched as it tumbled quickly back to earth. It landed neatly on the table, spun in place for several moments, and then slowed to a halt…

...perfectly balanced on its side. “WHAT THE EVER-LOVIN’ FUCK?!” Red glared at the token heatedly, while Jack was completely cracked up over it. 

You giggled. “I guess that means we all three have to kiss.” You joked, which promptly silenced both of them.

“Nope, no way am I kissin’ pizza boy over here.”

“Pizza boy? Excuse you, sir,  _ I am a proud Italian-American citizen _ .”

“Guys, I was only joking.” You snickered and made a grab for the token. “We’ll just reflip it, okay?” You tossed the Deadluck coin up, and smiled as it twirled mid-air. It snagged the light with a lovely, golden wink before gravity caught up with it to send it hurtling back down once again. As before, it hit the table with a light  _ plink _ and spun like a top. 

Gradually, it began to lag in it merry pirouettes until  _ finally… _ “I CAN’T FUCKIN’ BELIEVE THIS SHIT!” Red slapped a hand to his forehead with a long, bone-deep groan.

“Huh.” You stared at the token contemplatively. “What are the odds of that?”

“About 1 in twelve thousand, I believe.” Jack informed you with the most self-satisfied grin.   
  
“This thing’s gotta be loaded.” Red snatched the coin up and weighed it in his palm.

“You’re the one that provided it.” Jack replied with a snort. 

Red growled. “I demand a reflip!”

“Okay, okay.” Jack held up his hands in a placating fashion before holding out a hand to take the coin. “ _ I’ll _ flip it this time.” He chucked it nearly to the ceiling. All eyes were on the coin as it descended to earth for the third time, hit the table and bounced a bit, only to right itself before rolling into a tight circle that ended in a slow spin. The spin died as surely as a bit of Red did on the inside as, once again, the coin had stopped on its side and stayed there.”Well… I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” Jack chuckled. “You know, at this point I am willing to bet that the universe is telling us something.”

“He’s right.” You were  _ highly _ entertained by all of this. “So, I’ll just go ahead and kiss you first, then Jack, and then you and him  _ have to _ kiss. The universe says so.”

“Fuck the universe.” Red snapped. “What’s the universe ever done for me?”

“It led you to  _ her _ , you ungrateful sod.” Jack retorted, still snickering quietly to himself.

“Oh, come on, Red. Don’t be such a spoilsport.” You grinned at him encouragingly.

He refused to look you in the eye for several minutes, but then gave in with a petulant mumble of several curses. “Ugh, fine!” He relented. “But you try feelin’ me up, buddy, an’ yer in for a world o’ hurt.”

“Duly noted.” Jack tried to contain himself, but his urge to smirk was clearly at war with his sense of self-preservation. 

You leaned over a bit to snuggle up to Red. He still had his eyes on Jack, but you yanked his head down to make him focus on you. His breath was warm on your face, and you breathed in the familiar scent of gunsmoke and whiskey. Pressing your lips to his mouth was a breath-stealing event that made you dive in for a stronger taste. He gripped your shoulders roughly, the points of his phalanges pricking through the thin cotton of your shirt, and pulled you tighter to him. When you finally pulled back to catch your breath, he tried to follow after your lips, but you put a finger to his mouth with playful wink. “Jack’s turn.”

You turned in your seat to see that the smile had fallen from Jack’s face. In its place was a bit of wonder, a dusting of lust, and a hint of fire in his eyes that seared his gaze into your soul. For a moment, you forgot what you were even supposed to do. He brought a reverent hand up to stroke your cheek, which broke the trance you’d fallen into.

Breathing was lost to you once again, though you had yet to so much as touch him. Your heart threatened to burst out of your chest as he let his hand trail down to tip your chin up. It wasn’t easy to discern if the hint of spiced bourbon on him was a result of a previous nip at the sauce, a drop of expensive cologne, or some mysterious scent that was entirely his own in origin. He hovered above your lips. “ _ Ho aspettato così tanto per questo. _ ” He murmured, before pressing forward to capture you up in a proper kiss. 

Your brain fogged up the moment his mouth landed on yours. It was as if this were the first kiss he’d ever shared with you, although that wasn’t precisely the case. His lips were soft and warm, careful as the legs of a butterfly in tasting a flower, while his heavy hands massaged the underside of your jaw and neck. He teased the seam of your mouth with his tongue, only to draw back and settle for lapping at your lower lip for a time. When he finally withdrew, he placed another, chaste kiss to your forehead before letting you go.

You had to take a second to blink and regain your sense of self. Your legs felt wobbly as you got up from the couch to take a seat on the coffee table so that you were no longer between them. You cleared your throat a bit and smiled mischievously. “Alright boys, showtime!” 

Red made no move, only glared testily at Jack. The mafioso chuckled low in his throat and bit the bullet by sliding across the couch. You couldn’t help feeling anticipation rise within your gut, and it would have been hard to tear your gaze from them if the three of you were interrupted. Jack didn’t seem at all bothered, while Red appeared to be on guard. His eye lights quickly darted between you and Jack as he shifted uncomfortably.    
  
“Now Red, don’t be like that.” Jack winked at him. “You heard the lady; we must kiss and make up.”   
  
Red clamped down his teeth to obviously stop the instinct to smile. His body was held tight, but there was a hint of curiosity if one looked close enough. “Stop bein’ funny.” He growled in reply.   
  
“Why?” Jack grinned. “You know you adore it when I am.”

“Shaddup.” Red muttered and turned his skull to the side as magic began to tinge his cheekbones with scarlet. After a couple of seconds, he let out a resigned huff. “Let’s just get this over with.” He pushed himself out of the slump and faced Jack resolutely.

“As you wish.” Jack placed a hand on Red’s shoulder, and then yanked him forward without much fanfare. He slanted his mouth over Red’s harshly, and his hand came to the back of his skull to hold him securely in place. Your lover’s sockets widened and you could see his jaw drop open a bit, which Jack took advantage of. Red’s eye lights flashed for half a moment and you saw a blood-red glow flick between Jack’s lips before he pushed back. The two seemed to war for control of the kiss, almost indifferent to you watching. Red’s phalanges were splayed across Jack’s chest as he dug into the flesh and fabric, but the mob boss didn’t appear at all affected. 

It was shocking, yet also intriguing to watch them passionately duke it out this way. Neither one gave an inch of leeway to the other, although somehow Red was now nearly sitting in Jack’s lap as he ferociously snapped at the tongue that was teasing his own. It was the boxing match all over again; you had the sneaking suspicion that this would end similarly. Soon, you were proven right when they broke apart at once, both breathing a bit heavier than before. 

“So, how was I?” Jack teased, his eyes twinkling. Red merely glowered back at him. “Come now, Red, cat got your tongue?” He chuckled. “No, wait…  _ spiacente,  _ that was me.” He arched one brow invitingly. “Would you like me to give it back?”

Red huffed and puffed, but still said nothing. He practically jumped off the couch as he ripped open a warp to storm through it. He kept it more or less open, and you realized that the portal led to his bathroom. Once there, he grabbed up his toothbrush and made a very prominent show of brushing his teeth, tongue, and mouth with what had to have been half a tube of toothpaste and the rest of a container of mouthwash.   
  
“Now  _ surely _ I wasn’t that bad.” Jack leaned back against the couch, his tone one of false offense. “At the very least,  _ cara mia _ enjoyed the show.” He looked pointedly at you. “Didn’t you?”   
  
Red pointed his toothbrush at you. “Don’tchya fuckin’ dare answer that.” He commanded, then spat into the sink and rinsed his mouth out once again. “An’ remind me t’ tell Boss to put toothpaste on the shoppin’ list.” He chucked the now-empty tube into the nearly overflowing bathroom bin before stepping back into your living room and letting the warp collapse behind him.   
  
“Hm, well, one can’t expect to please them all.” Jack shrugged, but he was looking very satisfied with himself. “Now that we’ve gone through with that, I say we make the rest of today just as productive. We should call everyone together to have a meeting with Asgore to straighten this debacle out.”   
  
“Not a bad idea.” You nodded in agreement. “Red, could you take care of getting everyone down here to the meeting room?”    
  
“Sure, sure.” He straightened his suit jacket and made quickly for the door, slamming it on his way out.   
  
Jack smoothed out his own suit, appearing quite amused. “You know, I truly believe he’s starting to like me.”


End file.
